


Royal Flush

by Chocolatpen



Series: The Syndicate [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gangs, M/M, Mafia AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 50
Words: 55,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,<br/>Like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.'</p><p>In a world governed by the laws of the Royal Flush, a powerful underground syndicate consisting of four rival suits, a sequence of pernicious events is pushed into motion after one fateful night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Names

**Author's Note:**

> Well... I couldn't find a Haikyuu mafia!au so here goes nothing?
> 
> Enjoy! :)

His breath comes up in short pants as he sprints, feet pounding relentlessly, down the alleyway.

It’s almost pitch black; only lighted by peek-a-boo strays from neon shopfronts. His dark hair is tussled from his disturbed sleep, clothes thrown on haphazardly as he’d escaped. Blue eyes dilate in the night air as the dull thuds of bullets ricocheting off walls grows dangerously close.

He doesn’t know why this is happening. Why he’s being chased like this. He’d been about to sleep when the self-placed alarms outside his door alerted him to intruders; and the gaping wound in his shoulder is enough to tell him that Kindaichi and Kunimi aren’t just conducting a field test.

A sudden, searing pain shoots through his ankle without warning. He loses his balance, landing heavily on his shoulder.

He’s been shot.

Blood mixes with the rainwater as his breath hitches in panic, heart pumping into overdrive. Grunting, he pulls out his last gun from it’s holster; rust-coloured raindrops sliding down the sleek metal.

His hands are shaking, with adrenaline or fear he really doesn’t know, since all he can think about are the black silhouettes that are advancing quickly on his fallen figure. He’d only needed a little bit more time – he’s already crossed into Spade territory. It had only been a matter of time before his persuers turned around.

But he’d had to go and get himself shot.

Backing himself up against the brick alley wall, he curls his fingers so tightly against the gun hidden against his side that his knuckles turn white with stress.

The black figure that might’ve been Kindaichi approaches him before the others, features hidden behind a mask. All he can think about, even with Kindaichi’s digits curled around a shiny metal pistol, is how they’d been partners before. They had been the infamous two pair – the pride and joy of the hearts.

Looking at the cool steel in his brown orbs now, though, he realizes all of that kinship has already been lost.

He lashes out without warning, and the black silhouettes disperse. He hits one of them, and dodges the retaliating rally of bullets. Breathing heavily, he stumbles away as quickly as he can with a busted leg, hope fluttering weakly in his chest - only to be greeted yet again with Kindaichi; eyes shining with fury, and his pistol now pointed straight at the point between his eyes.

Is this it? He thinks to himself, as the moment seems to slow. Is this how it all ends?

Kindaichi’s jaw clenches, and then all of a sudden, bright, flourescent light is flooding the alleyway. Kindaichi scatters at this; they’re in Spades territory, and it’s a breech of the peace packs between the decks if they’re found like that – dressed in stealth and armed to the teeth.

Left in the alley, he collapses onto the floor in a mix of feelings he can’t really decipher – what with his mind muddled like a swamp on a foggy day. The pain is dulling his senses, regardless of how ironic it sounds, and he can hardly decide whether to be relieved his pursuers have no choice but to leave him alone, or to be scared because he’s probably been found by a Spades patrol.

The night is full of surprises, apparently, because instead of a group of armoured individuals, a single male approaches him hurriedly. His hair is grey – almost an ethereal silver with that much light flooding the alleyway – and his eyes are a concerned liquid gold.

He doesn’t know why, but his brain is screaming at him to remember. He’s supposed to know who this is, should know, in fact, but somehow, he just can’t match this gentle face to a name.

The boy props him on his lap, and he watches the raindrops go in and out of focus as he’s enveloped in warmth. The sounds of traffic grow muffled and distant, and he just feels so very tired.

“What’s your name?”

Even the grey-haired boy’s voice is warm, he thinks. It’s so warm, and gentle, and beautiful. Was there a reason why he shouldn’t say his name? He’s just so tired. It’s too much… effort to think.

So he opens his mouth, soaked dark hair splayed across his forehead and blue eyes dilated even against the bright light. “K-Kageyama Tobio. I’m… Kageyama Tobio.”

And everything goes black.

 

 

 


	2. The Players

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To mix things up, I decided to go with bite-sized chapters and sooner updates. Enjoy!

There is a room in the middle of town that no one uses. It’s empty, save for a large, round table and four chairs, and pretty derelict. Nobody thinks twice about it, and mostly, it’s considered abandoned.

 

Of course, in instances such as this, the assumption is, more often than not, wrong.

 

“Shall we start the meeting?” Oikawa Toru is the first to break the hushed chatter, his features schooled into a disarming smile. As usual, there is not a single hair out of place on his well-groomed head. His brown eyes are ice as he gestures to the three other heads sitting around the table. “Since we’re all here.”

 

The underworld is dominated by the Royal Flush – a ruthless, totalitarian syndicate split into four factions. Much like how a real deck has four kings, there are four heads; each ruling their respective suit.

 

Standing behind his own King, Sugawara Koushi meets the steel in Oikawa’s eyes with his own, molten gold gaze. It might have taken awhile, but he still sees through the flashy brunette’s front.

 

Oikawa’s frazzled.

 

Now he definitely knows that there’s something wrong with the Hearts – and it probably has something to do with the stray who’s now in Suga’s care.

 

“Do you have something to say, Refreshing-kun?” Oikawa turns, fully, to face Suga, and regards him with a smile worthy of a toothpaste ad.

 

Oikawa Toru. The King of Hearts.

 

Suga’s been in the business far longer, so he’s seen Oikawa rise to power. He’d slowly taken power from the old King by usurping his agents and framing the loyalists, promoting his supporters and gaining foothold in the politics of the underworld. He’s definitely not to be trifled with.

 

Iwaizumi Hajime – not Oikawa’s Queen but his Ace – stands at rigid attention behind the charismatic King. He always has a serious look about him, eyebrows knitted into a frown almost all the time Suga’s ever seen him. There’s always a large gun of sorts strapped to his side, and that day is not an exception. Why they need so much ammo (Suga should know, he handles their orders personally) when they specialize in human trafficking is beyond him.

 

Although, what with Oikawa’s terrible personality, protecting their King from enemies seems like a more reasonable argument.

 

“Last night, a little past 2 in the morning,” Daichi begins almost conversationally, his fingers clasped together on the table top. Suga identifies the hard edge to Daichi’s otherwise pleasant tone immediately. Most of the spades gained that particular skill in the interest of preserving their lives – you never know when the boss could be in a bad mood. Flanking Daichi’s other side, Ennoshita’s features are relaxed into his perpetual half-smile. “We found a group of assailants in our territory.”

 

Sawamura Daichi is the King of Spades; the spearhead of the Royal Flush arms trade and the only one Suga could ever consider taking orders from. He’s steady, strong, straightforward and terrifyingly ruthless to his enemies. The entire suit looks up to him like a father figure, although he’s one that could decapitate you without a second thought.

 

Ennoshita Chikara, their current 3, is like a younger, easier-going version of Daichi. They’ve been thinking of grooming him into the next King for quite a while, which explains his presence at the heads’ quarterly meeting. Suga’s come to realize, in the years Ennoshita’s worked under him, that the easy-going smile is a mere cover for the true apathic nature of the 3’s character.

 

“You think it’s one of us.” It’s phrased as more of a statement than a question, and Kuroo’s mouth splits into a full-blown smirk as he rests his cheek on his palm. There’s a predatory gleam in his eyes that never ceases to send shivers down Suga’s spine, regardless of how long they’ve known each other. “And here I was, thinking you trust us.”

 

Kuroo Tetsurou is by far the most intelligent and cold-blooded of the four kings. As King of Clubs, he rules the illegal gambling scene with an iron fist. His eyes, cat-like and piercing, meet Suga’s from across the room. Suga startles slightly from the unexpected eye contact, but manages to hold the chilling gaze. When the messy-haired King’s gaze fails to turn away, Daichi’s fists clench visibly on the table; veins popping under his skin.

 

Kuroo’s second-in-command is unfazed by any of it, barely looking up from the gameboy held firmly in his hands; his fingers deftly flying over its buttons. Suga doesn’t know much about Kozume Kenma, but the petite Queen is rumoured to be Kuroo’s childhood friend. He’s also incredibly smart – the brains behind the Clubs’ exponentially improving business.

 

“Hey, Hey, hey!” Bokuto shoots to his feet and lands a fist onto the table, his loud exclamation ripping the tense atmosphere apart. “Why’s everyone staring at Suga-chan? Akaashi is as pretty – no, prettier! Right, Akaashi?”

 

Akaashi, standing regally behind Bokuto’s chair, just shoots him a deadpan before bowing his head at Suga. “I apologise for Bokuto-san’s insolence, Sugawara-san.”

 

Bokuto Koutarou is no stranger to the underworld, regardless of how recklessly he may act. His premature white hair is a hereditary trait – the title of King of Diamonds is the only one that’s passed down through the generations; or at least has been for the past few decades. He’s been trained for the job his whole life, although his fiery temper is something that, more often than not, gets in the way.

 

Akaashi Keiji has been a permanent fixture as Bokuto’s dilligent right-hand since young. As a street orphan, he’d been found and recruited into the ranks of the Diamonds’ drug trade. Soon after, the apathic boy become a masterful distributer and attained the title of 5 of Diamonds, rising to the rank of Queen once the current Bokuto attained his throne.

 

“It’s quite alright,” Suga’s eyes curve into crescents as he smiles, shaking his head. His phone is vibrating slightly in his pocket, and he knows it’s probably Shimizu, calling with information on the boy resting in their med bay. “Now, who would like to start the quarterly report?”

 

 

 


	3. Good Cop, Bad Cop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanamaki's voice is really sexy. And also someone needs to teach me how to link stuff in the notes so I can show y'all the artwork that inspired me.

Iwaizumi’s face remains shrouded under a black cloud the whole way back to the Hearts’ Headquarters, through the large, marble-framed doorway, and right up till both Kindaichi and Matsukawa are kneeling before him. Oikawa, on the other hand, hides his true feelings under that god awful smile he calls charming.

 

Iwaizumi has always played the bad cop to Oikawa’s good – even now, when they’re sitting at the top of a sprawling prostitution ring.

 

Kindaichi and Matsukawa have the decency to look ashamed of themselves, Kindaichi more so than Matsukawa. It’s his own fuck up that had cost them Kageyama Tobio, landed Kunimi in the med bay and put the other suits on high alert, after all. Now, it’s probably near impossible to break into Spades’ territory; courtesy of their ‘Indomitable’ Queen Sugawara Koushi.

 

“What were you _thinking_?” Iwaizumi hears himself growl, even though his mind is just a red haze. Kindaichi flinches, and Matsukawa averts his gaze. “Chasing after Kageyama like that, and into Spades’ territory, no less! Neither Oikawa nor I issued an order to go after him, yet you still acted on your own. This sort of recklessness almost cost Kunimi his life. Do you understand that?”

 

On his throne, Oikawa remains silent. Playing the good cop, indeed. He knows Iwaizumi will settle things for him; he always has.

 

“Yes, I do,” Kindaichi grounds out, eyebrows furrowed as if he doesn’t understand why he’s being scolded for going after Kageyama. “But I shot him; he’s probably already dead-”

 

“I issued the order, so you should probably talk to me about this whole stint.” Hanamaki’s deep voice is steady even under the tense circumstances, features morphed into a frown.

 

Bewildered, Iwaizumi shifts his gaze to Yahaba, whose brown eyes are widened, almost comically, under the shade of his fringe, and then back to the the two still kneeling on the floor. Matsukawa’s jaw is set, droopy eyes darting towards Oikawa in growing alarm. Kindaichi just looks furious; probably at himself for hurting Kunimi.

 

The cock of a gun pulls everyone’s attention back to their King, and Hanamaki suddenly finds himself staring down the barrel of Oikawa’s personal pistol.

 

Oikawa smiles, in that nasty way that even Iwaizumi doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of, and tilts his head slightly. At the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi notices Kyotani quietly manouvering Yahaba so that he’s standing behind him. Matsukawa stares at Iwaizumi in silent desperation – it’s at these times that everyone is reminded that in actual fact, it is Iwaizumi who’s the good cop.

 

Oikawa just likes pretending he is.

 

“The evidence is more than sufficient, Oikawa,” Hanamaki raises his hands in a placating motion, a bead of sweat running down his temple as Oikawa stands from his throne and approaches him. “You were stalling… And we were scared that your history with Kageyama would cloud your judgement. Kageyama _betrayed_ us; that’s a fact. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for the Hearts; for _us_. I… I stand by my decision, no matter how you choose to see it.”

 

Regardless of resolve, Hanamaki still flinches when cold steel rests on his forehead, and he meets Oikawa’s blank orbs with his own pleading gaze; begging Oikawa to understand.

 

“Takahiro,” Oikawa’s voice is as lifeless as the weapon in his grasp. “Do you remember what happened to Moniwa?”

 

Hanamaki goes rigid at this, and Iwaizumi has to physically restrain Matsukawa from leaping into the line of fire. Yahaba has started trembling behind Kyotani, and Iwaizumi wonders if this really is the right time to bring this up. Their climb to the top had been nothing short of bloody, but Oikawa’s psychological manipulation and the resulting chaos is something else entirely.

 

“You may be my Queen, Makki, but you’re not allowed to issue orders without my knowledge.” It’s almost as if the whole room breathes a sigh of relief at the old nickname, and watches the light return to Oikawa’s eyes as he lowers the gun. Matsukawa sags against Iwaizumi – Hanamaki’s been forgiven.

 

“I guess I never liked the meddlesome little brat, anyways,” Oikawa hums under his breath as he slides the gun back into its holster, dark eyes travelling back up to meet Hanamaki’s. “Undermine my power again, though, and even _Iwa-chan_ won’t be able to save you.”

 

…

 

Suga’s eyebrows are lifted so high that his forehead threatens to disappear entirely. Blinking, he scans over the information again in disbelief. “You’re sure all of this is accurate? Hundred percent sure?”

 

Shimizu Kiyoko, the stoic 1 of Spades, nods in response. She’s Suga’s most reliable information gatherer – so much so even Suga doesn’t know how she does it, sometimes. This is one of those times.

 

“Wow.” Suga mutters, partly under his breath. He leans back against the couch to let the information sink in, and suddenly, the hearts’ behaviour during the morning meeting makes perfect sense. Because they’ve lost someone incredibly, _incredibly_ important.

 

Shimizu reaches for one of the teacups on the coffee table between them and takes a delicate sip. Suga’s eyes snap up to meet her questioning gaze, and he offers her a bright smile. “Do me a favour and keep this from Daichi for a while, alright? I want to figure this one out before we alert the cavalry.”

 

Shimizu nods again, taking another sip of her tea as Suga takes out a lighter from his pocket and sets the stack of papers on fire. He dumps it into the fireplace unceremoniously, watching as the flames consume any incriminating evidence.

 

It’s no wonder why the Hearts were so intent on getting Suga’s little stray back, too.

 

The little black haired, blue eyed stray named Kageyama Tobio – adopted brother to Oikawa Toru.

 

 

 

 


	4. Puzzle Piece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys are enjoying this so far :) The pieces are slowly coming together. Also, warnings of minor swearing in this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for the comments :)) They're really appreciated!

When Kageyama wakes, it’s to the soft touch of a woman on his feverish skin.

 

He startles immediately and, violently shrugging the hand off his arm, scampers backwards until his shoulders hit the headboard with a dull thud. Tremours attack him immediately, right as the panic seeps into his skin. Where is he?! The last thing he remembers… The last thing he remembers is being betrayed.

 

Betrayed by the people he used to call his brothers.

 

The woman casts him a distasteful look before hastily exiting the room, and Kageyama doesn’t blame her at all. It’s not everyday that the kid you’re treating wakes up so... _defensive_. She has silky, jet-black hair spilling down past her shoulders, a beauty mark on her chin and intelligent grey eyes. She’s volumptous as well; obvious from the dip neckline of the cocktail dress she’s wearing. She doesn’t look like any nurse Kageyama’s ever seen, and she probably isn’t one.

 

The room he’s in is way too nice to be a hospital, as well, with rich, deep oaks that contribute to the entire chic-modern aesthetic, and a mattress so soft he’s sinking into it even as he’s curled into a ball in the corner.

 

He’d never seen something so comfortable, so _homey_ , even when he’d been the (mostly secret) backup heir to the Hearts. Oikawa had never grown a liking to him; much less a soft spot, and he’d always been too focused on goals and how to achieve them rather than the well-being of his disposables.

 

So in true Oikawa fashion, he’d found a way to make comfort a competition, encouraging loyalty to the suit on the way. The ‘upper class’ – or the members ranked 5 and up – always had better amenities than the others, Kageyama’s seen the massive upgrades with his own eyes; in Kindaichi’s, after he’d been promoted to the 3 of hearts, and in Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s shared bedroom.

 

His own, in comparison, as the black sheep of the family, had been the size of a broom closet.

 

Kageyama presses himself even further into the headboard when the door reopens. Who is it? He still doesn’t know where he is, who he’s with, or what they want with him. They might want to sell him back to Oikawa, for a price. But then again, they may not even have ties to the underground, not even know who he is.

 

To his utter surprise, Kageyama actually recognizes the man that walks in. It’s the same silver-haired one who saved him from Kindaichi back in that grimy alleyway. The one who saved his life. He doesn’t remember anything else about the stranger, though, even though he feels he should.

 

It seems the recognition shows in Kageyama’s eyes, because the silver haired stranger offers him a gentle smile and slowly leans toward him, tentatively sliding a softly-calloused hand onto his sweaty forehead. Kageyama wants to cringe; the silver haired stranger must think he’s disgusting now.

 

But when he hesitantly peers up at the silver haired stranger, Kageyama realises that the same, natural smile is still quirking his lips upwards, and his golden eyes are still as open as when he’d stepped into the room. This is a very shocking change from Oikawa’s fake smiles and fake eye-sparkles and fake concern, because this time, everything is so _real_.

 

Kageyama is so out of it that he flinches when the silver-haired stranger sits onto the bed with him, and the mattress dips.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. You must be so startled!” A light chuckle, and then a hand is combing through his dark strands soothingly. Unconsciously, Kageyama relaxes, leaning toward the comforting source. “You passed out before I could give you a name, unfortunately. I’m Sugawara Koushi.”

 

Why does that sound so familiar?

 

Kageyama stares at the silver haired stranger – Sugawara Koushi – through his bangs. He must be pretty rich, to be able to afford all of this. Maybe the woman from before is related to him somehow; although they look nothing alike. Everything about Sugawara Koushi is a mystery to Kageyama. He’s only just found out his name, after all. It’s almost like he’s a puzzle to be solved.

 

“You can call me Suga. Almost everybody does.” Sugawara offers as he makes himself more comfortable on the bed, taking Kageyama’s hands in his and rubbing soothing circles into his worried skin. “You’ve been sleeping for a full day, but your fever has yet to break. It’s probably why you’re so out of it now.”

 

So that’s why his ears are ringing, and his head is light but pounding.

 

“Y-you saved me? Why?” Kageyama’s voice comes out rough and grating. He immediately realises how rude he is, but Suga hands him a tall glass of water before he can say anything, motioning for him to drink.

 

“You looked like you needed help,” Suga’s eyes are sparkling in amusement as he watches Kageyama drain the water quickly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve once he’s done. “I’ve never seen someone as young as you getting chased down by a group of hearts like that before, though.”

 

Kageyama’s mouth drops open, and he splutters like a fish out of water. _Fuck_. What does he say? Does he lie? Is this a test? What if he answers wrongly? Can he even lie to the guy who saved his life?

 

He’s saved from having to make a decision, though, because Suga just laughs at his panicked look and pulls the emptied glass out of Kageyama’s grasp gently.

 

“Don’t worry. I live with many people, but they know my habits of taking in strays. We’ll just neglect to tell them how and in what condition, exactly, I found you.” Suga winks at Kageyama, and it feels like there’s suddenly a secret so important shared between them that he’d rather die than let Suga down. “You don’t have the tattoo, so it’s safe to assume that you’re no runaway prostitute the hearts were chasing down. I won’t make you tell me what happened, although… I do hope you’ll come to trust me enough to want to tell me in the future.”

 

Kageyama feels like maybe this is the luckiest day of his life. The luckiest, or, more likely, one of the worst. Things can’t be _that_ good. There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world, Oikawa has taught him that much. But then again, Suga is infinitely different from Oikawa. Unlike him, there’s no deceit, no ulterior motive in Suga’s eyes. He seems like he just generally wants to help.

 

So before Suga can walk away, having succeeded in calming him down, he blurts out, “B-But, why are you doing this? What do I have to do to repay you?”

 

Suga looks floored for a moment, not expecting a question like that, but he recovers quickly and shoots Kageyama a grin and a thumbs up, going over to ruffle his black tresses. “Let Shimizu treat you, alright? You want to be back on your feet as soon as possible, after all.”

 

 

 

 


	5. It's Just Good Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got my wisdom teeth pulled out so I'll hopefully be able to write more the next few days :")
> 
> btw this story goes chronologically, unless there's a flashback. e.g. Kageyama was found at around 3am, the meeting was around 9am, we were with the hearts after the meeting in the early afternoon, then Kags woke up in the late afternoon.
> 
> Hope y'all are enjoying this! Your comments bring life to my dead soul :")

Kuroo grabs a drink from the bar before heading out to weave amongst the throngs of customers; golden, cat-like eyes coldly surveying the crowd for any outliers.

 

The clubs, and their associated gambling dens, serve a large variety of patrons from the filthy rich to the poverty-stricken, and the profits – _his_ profits – attract thieves and burglars like bees to honey. Well, at least the ones stupid enough to mess with the Royal Flush.

 

In this case, the customers are all well-dressed and decorated with shiny, useless baubles that sparkle under the soft chandelier lighting. Tonight, he’s not at a makeshift alleyway shack, the back of some small suburban terrace or even on one of their private yachts. Tonight, he’s at the _Tyche Fortuna_ – by far the biggest of his gambling parlors and the grandest of his many casinos.

 

He’s not there just to _play_ , either – he’s doing business tonight.

 

Kuroo is just finishing his whiskey, hand reaching down to smooth the edges of his suit jacket, when a shadow falls over his figure; announcing Lev’s arrival. There’s not many people who are taller than Kuroo, and the half-russian’s height is already drawing attention to them.

 

The lazy King regards his 3 of Clubs with a rasied brow. Lev’s eyes are bright grey, sparkling in excitement and startling aginst the pale of his skin. “Hamada-san has just arrived. Kai-san and Yaku-san intercepted him, just like you told them to.”

 

Kuroo nods, and they begin weaving through the throngs of people – it’s a busy night – and moving towards the back of the house, where the private rooms are.

 

Hamada-san is a certain repeat customer of theirs, who has – according to Kenma, who manages all the Clubs’ finances – failed to pay back his debts for two weeks, now, even after being warned by Yaku last week. A little dig deeper, and Kenma reported that Hamada-san, previously a rich tycoon, is now bankrupt.

 

It brings a small grimace to Kuroo’s face just thinking about it. Who does Hamada-san think he is, trying to bullshit the Royal Flush – trying to bullshit the _Clubs_? He’s always made sure that no one messes with them, and that policy still stays true. Besides, a portion of him is just happy to finally have a high-profile target he can beat up with his own hands.

 

As they politely make their way through the myriad of guests, Lev flanking him closely on the left, heads start turning and hushed whispers run through the crowd. Diamond rings glitter under the light as the women cover their mouths to gossip – about that strange, handsome, tall, silver-haired boy and _that_ man; the one with the golden eyes and the bedroom hair, the mysterious casino heir nobody seems to know.

 

Needless to say, Kuroo is very proud of the reputation he’s built himself since becoming King.

 

Behind him, Lev is almost bouncing up and down in excitement, _almost_. “I can help, this time, right? I get to beat him up too?”

 

Lev is like an excitable puppy – an excitable puppy so desensitized to violence he doesn’t even flinch when Kuroo shoots a man’s skull in. He’s eager to please, too, which makes him that much easier to manipulate. Yaku had really done well for them by scouting this one.

 

The comfortable smirk slides right off Kuroo’s face when he opens the door to the backroom furthest away from the main hall, instead replaced by a cool, calculating look Kenma calls his ‘work face’. He can feel Lev tensing, his knuckles cracking dully, as they survey the scene in front of them.

 

Kai is standing at the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, and he nods his head at Kuroo and Lev when they enter. Hamada-san’s bodyguards look torn; confused as to whether or not they should risk going against the Royal Flush in defense of their employer.

 

“I demand to speak to your manager! This kind of treatment is _intolerable_!! I’ll shut you down immediately! How dare you question my finances?! Who the fuck are you, anyway? You useless little brat!” Hamada-san looks almost ready to blow a fuse, his complexion blotchy and red. Yaku, being the more diplomatic of Kuroo’s two right hand men, stands before Hamada-san, his full 165cm straightened yet his muscles coiled like he’s about to strike out.

 

It happens in an instant.

 

One moment, Hamada-san is shouting at Yaku, the smaller getting angrier by the second, and then suddenly his fist is sailing towards Yaku’s cheek.

 

Lev is there before Yaku can deflect the punch, his long limbs jerking Hamada-san’s arms back so hard they pop with a painful crack. Using the momentum, Lev pushes the older man so that he’s forced to fall to his knees; the persian carpet below them hardly cushioning the impact. Yaku’s eyes are a little wider than usual in surprise, not having expected Lev.

 

Kuroo comes up behind him, smirk plastered back onto his slowly darkening features. He places a placating hand on Yaku’s shoulder and hardly conceals the glare he sends Hamada-san’s way. “Well, now, Hamada-san, what do you have to say for yourself? Causing so much trouble _I_ have to come down to handle it?”

 

To his credit, Hamada-san freezes instantly when he sees Kuroo. However, it only serves to widen the King’s smirk. “Kai, get rid of the others. We’ll handle it from here.”

 

Hamada-san’s complexion pales significantly at that, and he struggles to defend himself. “Hey, we can talk about this like c-civilised people! I.. I don’t know what he’s talking about-”

 

“Save the bullshit, Hamada-san. You gave up the civilised way when you attempted to hit my _Joker_ ,” Kuroo’s smirk is so wide it almost splits his face in half. He cracks his knuckles tauntingly, pulling at Hamada-san’s tie as he pulls his fist back to ready a punch. “Now, why don’t we put some _colour_ back into your features?”

 

 


	6. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really suck at the fluff genre. Still, I hope y'all are enjoying this so far! Your comments keep me going :")

“Nishinoya, Tanaka. Make sure the night watches adhere to Suga’s schedule – no uneeded breaks, or going for a joyride to the red light district. _No distractions_. We need to be extra vigilant, especially after yesterday. ” Daichi sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he scans through his notes for the day; ever the organized leader. “As for you, Tsukishima, just make sure you stay safe and make it back by breakfast or Suga will worry. You understand me?”

 

Nishinoya Yuu and Tanaka Ryunnosuke, the Joker and 2 of Spades respectively, nod reverently at their King. While Tanaka looks like he’s about to pick a fight with the next person who walks into the room, Nishinoya’s expression is light, almost sparkling with excitement. “I hope they come again tonight, though. Then I’ll get a chance at killing them! And making Suga-san happy!”

 

Tsukishima, their newly appointed 6 of Spades, rolls his eyes at his coworkers from behind a pair of glasses. Daichi sighs again, this time a loud exhale through his nose, and waves them away. “If there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed. I’m too tired to deal with your shit now.”

 

Tanaka and Nishinoya bow slightly, smirking out a playful “Yes boss!” before heading out of the head suite and joustling each other along the way. Tsukishima leaves too, although much more quietly. It’s close to 3am in the morning, and Daichi had only just returned to the Spades’ Headquarters – a large mansion on the edge of town, near to the sea – from a short trip to one of their ports.

 

He loosens his tie with a yawn as he walks toward his – _their_ – bedroom, cracking the door open quietly so as to refrain from disturbing Suga. His grey-haired partner is curled up on his side of the bed, the covers neatly covering his body from the shoulders down.

 

Unfortunately, Suga has always been quite a light sleeper, and his eyes flutter open to regard Daichi with a gentle smile when light from the lounge lands on his face. His voice is slightly cloudy from sleep. “Welcome home, Dai.”

 

Daichi replies the greeting with his own, tired tug of the lips before turning around to pull off his tie and unbutton the top of his shirt. “Sorry for waking you, baby. Go back to sleep.”

 

There’s the sound of the ruffling of bed sheets, and the soft padding of bare feet on their carpet, before Suga’s arms are wrapping around his waist and his cheek is resting on Daichi’s shoulder. “Let me help.” Suga presses a light kiss onto his jaw before padding away again, this time to their bathroom. “I’ll prepare a bath.”

 

Daichi misses the warmth immediately.

 

The sound of running water only spurs him to undress faster, and he tosses the bundle of clothes into the hamper sitting by the dresser before stepping into the bathroom. Suga is bent over the tub, one hand reaching to turn off the tap while the other tests the water temperature.

 

Daichi feels a smile tugging at his features – it’s not often, these days, for that to happen, but Suga never fails to cheer him up. He’s Daichi’s beautiful, loving, Queen. _His_ , and no one else’s. _Especially not Kuroo’s_.

 

A warm, wet finger bumps his nose gently, bringing him out of his reverie.

 

Suga smiles widely at him, the sides of his lips wobbling slightly in an effort not to laugh, and Daichi turns toward the mirror to see that he’s left soapy suds dotting the tip of his nose. The King chuckles indulgently and reaches to pull Suga flush against him, tickling his sides along the way.

 

It’s easy to hold Suga steady in his bigger hands, even while he’s wriggling away from the tickling, and Daichi slides his arms around Suga’s waist, lacing his fingers together over the small of his back when there’s no space left between them.

 

Daichi can never get tired of those molten gold eyes – but then again, he can never resist pampering Suga with kisses either. And so, he decides to lean in, eyes fluttering close, to meet Suga’s lips in a gentle, chaste kiss.

 

The reluctancy to separate is obvious, even as they part, and the warmth lingers as though it never wants to leave.

 

Daichi sinks into the tub with a deep groan, displacing some water but getting covered in suds nonetheless, and begins massaging his aching muscles as Suga pumps some shampoo into his palm. His fingers knead Daichi’s scalp in a perfect balance of soft and hard, easing his headache instantly and lulling him into sleepy relaxation.

 

“How was your day, baby?” Daichi misses spending more time with Suga. Sometimes, he even misses the days before he’d become King, because even if he hadn’t been able to protect Suga all the time in the way he can now, he’d at least been by his side while carrying out all their orders.

 

“It was good. Our newsest shipment from the west port arrived without a hitch,” Suga replies, his voice smooth like sweet honey. Daichi’s heard that same tenor morph into the polished swipe of a sharp knife on hot butter before – it’s absolutely terrifying. “The boy I brought home yesterday finally woke up, too. He’s recovering very quickly, I think you’ll be able to see him before you leave, in the morning.”

 

“That’s great!” Daichi grins, the smile he saves for Suga and Suga only, and hums when Suga’s fingers trace his adams’ apple teasingly. The grey-haired Queen giggles at the tiny vibrations and slaps Daichi on the shoulder. “C’mon, time to get out. The water’s getting cold.”

 

Daichi obliges obediently; because Suga is the only one who he allows into his life like this, and showers off the soapy residue while allowing the bath water to drain. Suga hands him a towel when he’s done, and wraps the bathrobe around his shoulders; circling his arms around Daichi’s waist to tie it close.

 

After that, it’s only too easy to fall into bed together; a comfortable routine both of them are happy to follow. Suga tucks them both in – with the blanket always pulled below his chin, since he gets cold during the long nights – and allows Daichi to draw him close.

 

They always sleep like this, even if Suga doesn’t wake up when he comes in. It’s an almost unconscious gesture, and it feels natural for Suga to curl against Daichi’s chest, the bigger of the two wrapping his arms around the other protectively, even in their sleep.

 

Daichi is starting to drift away into the soft comforts of sleep when he hears Suga’s voice rumbling lightly against his chest, his tone ever so soft. “I love you, Dai.”

 

Daichi plants a kiss on Suga’s forehead, where the wispy strands of silver end. “I love you, too, Koushi.”

 

 

 

 


	7. Night Owls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post twice this week because of all the good feedback I received for the previous chapter :") Thanks for the support!!
> 
> We're going in deeper this chapter - hope y'all enjoy it :)

When Tsukishima arrives at the meeting spot – on the rooftop of some derelict building, out of all places – he’s loath to realise that he’s not the last one to arrive, even if he _is_ almost half an hour late.

 

“Hey hey hey, Tsukki’s here!” Bokuto pops into Tsukishima’s personal space once he spots him; large, rounded eyes irritatingly bright even in the middle of the night. There’s a ridiculously large machine gun hanging from his shoulder, although it’s nothing unanticipated, what with Bokuto’s love of extremes. “Why are you so late?? We’re losing precious time here!!”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Tsukishima retorts the energetic King with a low scoff. Regardless of any initial disregard, the taller blonde still bows in formal respect to the higher ranking Diamond, also turning to nod politely at Akaashi in greeting. “My meeting ran a little late.”

 

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re late, though!” Is Bokuto’s enthusiastic, faux-angry reply. He doesn’t sound upset in the least, regardless of the frown that pulls his arched eyebrows together. “I _wonder_ what punishment-”

 

“It’s not like he’s the only one who’s late, anyway. Kuroo’s only just finished some business at the _Tyche_.” Akaashi interrupts Bokuto from his perch on the ledge, gaze fixed on the handgun he’s polishing idly. A sniper rifle, glinting dangerously in the moonlight, sits behind him rather innocently. It’s already fully set up, barrel pointed straight at a small warehouse on the opposite street.

 

“Damnit, Akaashi, back me up once in a while, won’t you??” Bokuto clutches at his head exaggeratedly. He snaps his attention back to Tsukishima, pointing at him with his other hand splayed out on his hip. “Anyway, let’s get the party started already. Three people should be more than enough!”

 

Akaashi hums his agreement and tosses an earpiece at Tsukishima. The tall blonde catches the small instrument effortlessly, insepecting it for a moment before fitting it snugly in his ear. Immediately, Akaashi’s voice grows loud and clear. “Can you hear me?”

 

Tsukishima offers him a half-hearted thumbs-up before Bokuto has linked an iron grip around his upper arm and is starting to tow him down the stairwell. Their feet are silent against the cement flooring, and Tsukishima gives himself a second to get readjusted to the silent Bokuto – the one he can’t seem to understand, no matter how many times they go on raids together.

 

It’s part of the reason why Sawamura-san still allows him to go on these… whatever these meetings are. To find out what makes Bokuto tick – under the pretense of strengthening inter-suit ties.

 

The fact that he can’t fully figure the King of Diamonds out frustrates Tsukishima. He’s always been a good judge of character, maybe only second to Sugawara-san, so he doesn’t understand how that noisy, irritating owl can, in a split second, swap personalities with its quiet, professional version.

 

Maybe it’s a King thing – to have a set of personalities to switch around for different occasions, Tsukishima thinks as they brace themselves against two relatively large pillars. He’s certainly seen both sides of his own King’s personality. Sawamura-san has a much shorter fuse than he’d like people to think.

 

“Two guards on the outside, approximately seventeen on the inside. There might be more, I’m not sure.” Akaashi’s voice, familiar and monotonous, comes through the comms unit. In response, Tsukishima pulls out a pair of handguns and clicks the safety off.

 

Bokuto does the same with his machine gun, and shoots Tsukishima a wide, toothy smile when he catches him glancing his way. “Be careful, now, Tsukki, or Suga’ll have my head!”

 

Akaashi starts the countdown, and faint rustling fills the background. Tsukishima lets his face slide into a deadpan, exhales softly through his nose.

 

“3, 2..”

 

Two quick shots, silent and true, and then the guards fold onto themselves, landing on the floor with dull thuds. Bokuto and Tsukishima immediately run forward, right across the deserted street. The door is still locked, so they exchange a quick round of rock, paper, scissors.

 

Tsukishima grimaces when he loses, and picks up the body that hasn’t been shot in the face. It’s wearing all-black, so the blood stains around the chest area aren’t obvious. Propping it up, and making sure he’s entirely hidden behind the body, he angles it so that it looks like it’s just taking a smoke.

 

Bokuto raps on the door, then ducks to the side. A muffled voice filters from behind it, and eyes peer out of a slot in the door. “What is it?”

 

“Ran out of smokes.” Tsukishima makes sure his voice is soft and deep so that he isn’t found out. The body is growing cold in his arms, regardless of the warm blood flowing steadily onto his legs. “You got any?”

 

The man groans loudly, and the sound of keys jingling makes Bokuto grin in anticipation. “Goddamn, Nakashima. When are you gonna stop slacking-”

 

Tsukishima pulls out the small dagger he keeps on hand for situations like this – flicks his wrist and watches as it embeds itself into the man’s throat. A spray of blood paints the left side of Tsukishima’s jaw red before he can duck out of the way, and he lets the body fall back to the ground with a disgusted look planted on his face.

 

Bokuto steps into the building first, brandishing his machine gun with a loud, “Hey hey hey!!!”

 

Tsukishima prefers to stay out of the rest of the bloodbath, instead watching from the doorway as Bokuto massacres the men in the room. He prefers covering Bokuto’s blind spots; targetting the ones hiding behind tables and crates.

 

And then suddenly, Bokuto reaches for Tsukishima’s dagger – and with a flexible twist of his shoulder, throws it at a man who’d just appeared in a doorway. The dagger meets its mark, and the man slumps onto the floor, lifeless.

 

“Nice kill, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi, who’s remained silent all this while, compliments softly. This only fires the white-haired King up even more, and Tsukishima sighs as he moves to pluck his dagger out of yet another body – giving it another deep stab to the eye for good measure – only to watch as a new figure with wild, jet-black hair darts into the room.

 

Kuroo jumps into the fight with a crooked smirk and lazy eyes, pulling out a pair of pistols on the fly, and it’s at that moment that Tsukishima realises that, desensitized as he is, he will probably never be able to understand the heated desire to kill.

 

Well, he thinks as he looks at the mutilated corpses littering the floor, at least not in the same _intensity_ as Bokuto and Kuroo.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Fissures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noya-san!!!!! Kageyama is such a sweetie.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy it :) Thanks for the comments!!

The morning sun is filtering through fluttering white curtains when Kageyama is woken by Shimizu and asked to change out of his cotton sleepwear. He’s still aching terribly, although his fever has long since broken, and it takes a lot of willpower to drag his exhausted body out of bed.

 

“Where’s Sugawara-san? Where are you taking me?” Kageyama questions the woman – and she’s already dressed to perfection, in a figure-hugging black dress, even though she’d been there to make sure he finished his medicine in the middle of the night – as they head out of the room he’s rested in for the past day.

 

“I’m taking you to Sugawara-san. The… head of the house wants to meet you.” Shimizu replies softly, grey eyes lighting translucent under the sunlight. Kageyama accepts the explanation, and they settle into a comfortable silence as Shimizu leads him through hallways.

 

The place is huge. While the Hearts’ Mansion had been all white marble and sharp, cool tones, this house is all warm oaks and soft, welcoming shades. There are plants everywhere, and the french doors overlook a sprawling pastel garden. Kageyama’s stomach growls noisily when they pass by the kitchen – there’s a heavenly smell wafting out a half-open door – and Shimizu hides her chuckle behind a dainty hand.

 

Someone barges out of the kitchens; slamming the double traffic doors behind him with an exaggerated flourish. The boy is small in stature, by Kageyama’s standards, and his height is only boosted by the sharp points his hair is styled up in. A tuft of blonde fringe droops onto his forehead, right above a pair of energetic brown eyes. He’s grinning around the loaf of bread stuffed into his mouth.

 

“Kiyoko-san!!!! I was hungry, so Asahi was nice enough to give me some bread!!!” He shouts as he approaches them in a light jog, cocking his head when he spots Kageyama.

 

Kageyama immediately notices the muscles coiled taut under his skin; a kind of subdued strength that wouldn’t stand out if Kageyama hadn’t been paying attention. There’s an aura around him, too, of overwhelming charisma and enveloping warmth – something overpowering for someone so small. The boy skids to a stop in front of them, swallowing the last of his loaf. He points at Kageyama. “Who’s this?”

 

“Are you sure you didn’t just bully him into it?” Shimizu replies with a lifted brow, turning to continue on her way. Both Kageyama and the boy fall into step with her; Kageyama behind and the boy next to her, shooting him suspicious glances. “This is Kageyama Tobio – Sugawara-san picked him off the street a day ago, and he’s only just gotten well enough to walk.”

 

The boy’s skeptical look dissipates entirely once Suga’s name is mentioned. Instead, it’s replaced with a large grin and a soft punch to the arm – since Kageyama’s bandages still show below the length of his sleeve. “Ah, one of Suga-san’s strays! Welcome to the family, Kageyama! I’m Nishinoya Yuu, the jo-”

 

“I’m bringing Kageyama-kun to Sawamura-san now, Nishinoya-kun, did you have anything to report?” Shimizu interrupts the boy with a pointed look, and some kind of understanding passes between them. Kageyama’s eyebrows are raised at this. He isn’t stupid; he knows when people are keeping things from him. And report? Maybe this Sawamura-san is the landlord – it’ll probably explain why the house is so big, and how there are so many people living in it, if the full-sized kitchen is anything to go by.

 

“Yeah, I was on my way to Daichi-san’s when I got sidetracked by that beautiful, _beautiful_ smell of food,” Nishinoya replies without missing a beat, eyes sparkling at the mere thought of it. “Asahi’s such a good cook; he should do it more often.”

 

Nishinoya is loud. And he fills up what would otherwise have been silence on the way to their destination. Shimizu explains that Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san’s quarters are on the other side of the house, and they can’t cut through the courtyard in the middle of the house because there are morning ‘activities’ taking place there.

 

Finally, they stop outside a pair of large, oak double doors.

 

“Sawamura-san and Sugawara-san share the master suite,” Shimizu explains when she sees Kageyama’s confused look. “But they should be up by now, if they want to be on time for breakfast.”

 

Nishinoya shoots another toothy smile at Kageyama, before rapping his knuckles on the door twice. “Yo, Daichi-san, Suga-san! You decent? Kiyoko and Kageyama are with me!”

 

“Come in, come in!” Suga’s voice is slightly muffled, but it floats gently out the door anyways. Kageyama feels himself relaxing just from hearing the familiar tone. It’s almost disturbing how at-home he feels with this boy he hardly knows. Maybe it’s because Sugawara-san saved his life.

 

The suite isn’t lavishly decorated, although it doesn’t seem like Suga would have the same taste as Oikawa, either. The floor is carpeted, and there’s just enough furniture for the space to look comfortable, but not too bare. It has the same homey-feel as the rest of the house, and there’s a glass vase filled with flowers sitting on the coffee table.

 

Suga grins when he sees them enter, although his attention quickly goes back to fixing a black-haired man’s tie. Kageyama can’t see his face yet, because he’s facing away from the doorway, but he’s taller than Suga, and his back is broad and strong, his stance sturdy.

 

Suga laughs at something the other man says, and somehow, even though there are five people in the room, it feels like Kageyama is interrupting something especially private.

 

Kageyama steps forward when Suga gestures at him to come closer, and he stiffens slightly when Suga bounds up to him to slip his slim digits between Kageyama’s fingers “Daichi, this is Kageyama Tobio. Kageyama, this is my partner, Sawamura Daichi!”

 

And Kageyama loses his breath, _forgets how to breathe_ , when Sawamura Daichi turns around because he recognizes his face (how can he not) from all the shots Oikawa’s shown him of this particular man, of all the advice – _he’s a crafty one, that Sawamura Daichi, because you might think he’s a simple, one-track minded guy but he’s not, Tobio-chan, he’s not a nice guy and he’ll shoot that last bullet between your eyes before you realise_ -

 

“Nice to meet you, Kageyama-kun,” Sawamura Daichi says, in all the regal welcoming of a King of the Syndicate. One of his hands is fidgeting with his tie, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a warm smile, and all of a sudden, Kageyama feels a crack echo in his mind; a sudden disjoint from the reality Oikawa has painted for him shaking his world violently.

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Blood at Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now is as good time as ever to revisit the warnings :) I'm gonna try to update twice a week from now onwards, on tues/weds and saturdays! (also Haikyuu season 3 is green lighted for fall!!!)
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy it :) Thanks for the comments!!

They give Kageyama a breakdown of what he already knows; of who they are, what they do, and how he’s welcome to stay if he wants to because any stray of Suga’s is already almost family by default – the underlining knowledge that Suga hand picks his strays going unsaid. And Kageyama thanks all the stars and deities that they have no idea who he is, or he would have already been thrown to the wolves; or dead.

 

And as Daichi talks, and explains, Kageyama’s grip on Suga’s hand grows tight, so tight he knows he’s probably crushing the shorter male’s fingers. But the silver-haired man doesn’t even flinch – and Kageyama is still coming to terms with the fact that his saviour, the same person who’d fed him medication and brought him water, is the _Queen of the Spades_.

 

Sugawara Koushi, Oikawa’s psychological sparring partner, the one who used to get him so riled he threw vases and lamps across the room, who’d been the one obstacle Oikawa had so much trouble getting past on his way to being King, who Oikawa haughtily calls _Refreshing-kun_ , _Kou-chan_ – Kageyama’s blood runs cold, because Suga, the Suga he knows, is nothing like what Oikawa says. He’s not power-hungry, or scheming, or even two-faced. He’s kind, and gentle, and nice, and everything Oikawa is not, and yet…

 

“Are you alright, Kageyama?” Suga’s voice is gentle, soothing the ruffled edges of Kageyama’s thoughts effortlessly. He’s gazing at him in concern, golden gaze soft. Sawamura and Shimizu are at the front, talking about something in hushed tones.

 

“He’s probably just overwhelmed by all the information,” Nishinoya suggests, scrutinizing Kageyama with narrowed chestnut eyes. The intense gaze is pulled away by a loud call of Nishinoya’s name, and Kageyama finds himself oddly relieved.

 

“Noya-san, Noya-san!” A small orange-haired boy rounds the corner, barely avoiding colliding with Nishinoya, who steadies him with a grin plastered across his features. An equally short girl runs after him breathlessly, her blonde hair bouncing as she struggles to keep up. Now that Kageyama has a better visual, it seems that Nishinoya is actually shorter than both of the new arrivals. He just seems bigger because of his personality… and maybe his hair.

 

Suga nudges him forward with an encouraging smile, and Kageyama only swallows deeply because he’s never been the best at making friends. Everyone has either been scared of him, or forced to work with him. Suga has been the only one to show him genuine kindness without expecting repayment.

 

Kageyama almost shuffles forward – _almost_. And then a tall figure lumbers into his line of sight and Kageyama freezes in place, blue eyes wide. The white-haired male is as tall, maybe even bigger since Kageyama’s last seen him. His features naturally fold into a stern frown, beady eyes following after the boy and girl almost protectively.

 

 _Aone_. Aone Takanobu – he should be dead, should be buried six feet underground or burned to ashes or even tied to the bottom of the sea because Oikawa wouldn’t have left a stone unturned like that. Especially not Aone, because… because what Oikawa did to Moniwa couldn’t, can’t, _won’t_ lack retribution.

 

And then suddenly, those attentive eyes are locked onto Kageyama’s electric blue gaze. They shift, from Kageyama’s face, to Suga’s hand around his arm, and then his frown seems to deepen.

 

Suga interrupts the moment with a large smile, waving his hands towards what Kageyama assumes is the dining hall. “Let’s go in, first, shall we? I’d like Kageyama to sit next to me for today, if that’s alright with you, Nishinoya.”

 

Nishinoya shoots him a quick thumbs-up, ushering the boy and girl into the dining hall, even as they crane their necks to get a good look at Kageyama; questions spewing out of their lips excitedly. Kageyama watches as Suga ushers Aone towards the dining hall, the giant blinking before following behind the shorter three.

 

“We’ll talk later, Kageyama.” Suga pats his head gently, pulling him into the room as well. It curbs his anxiety immediately. “For now, just enjoy breakfast. It’s the only time the whole house is gathered together.”

 

There are fifteen seats at the long table, and they’re all occupied, save for two; the ones directly on Sawamura’s right. Nishinoya is sitting at the other end of the table, next to the blonde girl and opposite Aone, and Kageyama is suddenly very grateful to him for switching seats – at least for that day.

 

“Alright, everybody, this is Kageyama Tobio.” Suga announces with his signature grin, pushing Kageyama forward slightly. He bows awkwardly. “He’ll be staying with us, but don’t go blabbing, now, because he’s not sure yet.”

 

The table raises their glasses – mostly orange juice – in a cheerful toast to Kageyama, and Suga hands him his own glass so he can recipocrate. There’s a bald guy halfway down the table who shoots intimidating looks at him, and the boy sitting opposite him with the neatly parted hair rolls up his morning newspaper to smack him on the head.

 

Breakfast is oddly pleasant.

 

Back with the Hearts, they had never truly had sit-down meals together. He’d had breakfast with Oikawa and Iwaizumi a few times, although it was more lunch than anything, since their operations are mostly carried out at night, and Oikawa only wakes up before noon if he has things to do. Maybe had late suppers while staking out with Kindaichi and Kunimi, but that’s it.

 

Breakfast with the Spades is a different ordeal altogether. It’s warm, and filled with chatter and amiable conversation. The large, bearded man sitting on Sawamura’s left turns out to be shy, sheepishly denying his ability when Sawamura praises his cooking. Kageyama thinks the food is good, too, and he devours the pork curry like the starving teenage boy he is. The darker aspects leak through, sometimes, like how Suga points out that the tall blonde boy’s neck still has blood splattered on it, and the green-haired boy sitting next to him reaches to wipe at the crusting splotches with a wet towel.

 

But it never gets nasty.

 

There are no trick questions, no trip wires. None of the political play Oikawa likes to string around his elite few. There are no weapons allowed, either, because Suga says it’s a dinner table, and mafia or not, they need their manners.

 

They need their _family_.

 

And Kageyama finds himself relaxing in the companionable atmosphere, finds himself answering the innocent questions directed at him by curious parties, and finds himself starting to _enjoy_ himself.

 

Suga watches him from the corner of his eye, and smiles as Kageyama takes another gulp of orange juice.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Salted Caramel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're in the double digits! Thanks to everyone who commented :)) y'all made me very happy!

“You know, being confined to a bed makes me almost regret being so lazy normally. _Almost_.” Kunimi shrugs as he shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth; grimacing at the rather bland taste. His right arm is still bundled up in a sling. “Doesn’t this food come from the same kitchen we normally eat from? It shouldn’t even have a hospital taste, what the fuck.”

 

“Well, aren’t you chipper this early in the morning,” Yahaba notes mildly, raising an eyebrow at Kindaichi. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard that many words in a single sentence from Kunimi since he’d first started. Kyotani glowers at Kunimi and Kindaichi from where he’s standing beside Yahaba, and Watari just shakes his head in amusement.

 

Kindaichi’s best reply is a sheepish smile as he reaches to scratch at the back of his head. “I think it’s because he doesn’t have anything else to do when we’re not visiting. So he kind of. Overcompensates.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing I brought these, then,” Yahaba lets a smile split his face in two, pushing back his sideway bangs proudly as he places a large box on the tabletop, next to Kunimi’s unfinished food. “Salted caramel macaroons, fresh out the oven.”

 

Kunimi literally drops everything he’s holding, and Watari dives to save his fork and spoon before they land on the floor. Yahaba whistles. “Nice save.”

 

“Thank you. _Thank you_.” When he looks back up from opening the bakery box, Kunimi’s gaze is so sincere Yahaba regrets not recording it all down. Suddenly, a shadowy look takes over Kunimi’s features, and he shoots Yahaba a suspicious glance. “They’re not poisoned, are they?”

 

Yahaba rolls his eyes and snatches a macaroon out of the box, tossing it in his mouth and chewing noisily. “Relax. Hanamaki-san’s already paid for your sins. Or rather, he’s paying for them now.”

 

An uncomfortable look takes over Kindaichi’s features, but Kunimi just shrugs again and begins devouring his favourite snacks. Watari speaks up in explanation. “We met Matsukawa-san at the bakery just now. He said he was buying some cream puffs for Hanamaki-san, because he’s been put on continuous runs for the next few days and he needs some cheering up. Apparently, he’s also been put in charge of the areas you can’t cover since you’re down with _that_.”

 

“What, a gunshot wound?” Kunimi deadpans, nibbling on a macaroon like a hamster. “Nothing none of us haven’t ever gotten.”

 

“True, very true,” Yahaba hums in agreement, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Speaking of runs, though, Kyotani and I have some errands to run for our grand King.” Kyotani grunts in a way of seconding his declaration, and Yahaba calls out a quick “Don’t finish them all in one shot, Kunimi” in parting.

 

Yahaba’s normally passive features twist into a frown when he rounds the corner, Kyotani right behind him, and his coworkers’ voices float down the hallway.

 

“They say he’s next in line.” Kunimi’s half-hearted voice is first, muffled slightly by chewing.

 

“Who’s they?” Watari has always been the most sensible, and Yahaba can imagine one of his eyebrows arching in question.

 

Kunimi’s shrugging, Yahaba knows this from his disinterested tone. “Nobody.”

 

Kindaichi’s voice wavers slightly, uncertain, and it gets much softer as Yahaba and Kyotani walk further away. “I guess it makes sense. And it’s good he doesn’t have sudden moodswings – those always catch me off guard.”

 

By the time they’re settled into the front seats of a Porsche 911, Yahaba’s newest pride and joy, Yahaba is straddling the line between flattered and angry. He doesn’t understand how peple can look up to him, to expect him to be a leader like Oikawa-san, because he is nowhere near talented enough, nowhere near _experienced_ enough to make the same decisions Oikawa-san makes with the same efficiency, with the same apathic smile.

 

He also doesn’t understand how the others are so blatantly disrespectful of Oikawa-san – he’s their _King_ , he built all they have by himself. And now that they’re growing lazy, they don’t want him around anymore because he’s too… too _tough_ on them? He respects Hanamaki-san and Matsukawa-san almost as much as Oikawa-san, but he can never understand why they chose to disregard Oikawa-san’s wishes. He would never have expected that from them.

 

“You look like you’re thinking really hard.” Kyotani’s gruff voice interrupts the soft classical music abruptly, the squeal of tires on asphalt a faraway noise. It had taken Yahaba awhile to trust Kyotani to handle his vehicles, and a little bit more to trust him with his life.

 

In a rare show of vulnerability, Yahaba turns over the hand Kyotani always leaves resting on the console between them and knits their fingers together; all the while avoiding Kyotani’s piercing gaze. “Will you… Are you… I-I mean… forget it.”

 

Kyotani pulls over on the side of the road and yanks at their interlocked fingers with so much strength Yahaba ends up half-sprawled on the driver’s side; his arms resting on Kyotani’s shoulders for support. It also leaves him unable to look away from Kyotani’s dark, lined gaze. It’s oddly gentle; a side of him that none of the other Hearts have seen. “It’s okay. Tell me, Yahaba.”

 

And then Yahaba ignores the single tear that leaks out the side of his eye because all of a sudden, he’s babbling about his insecurities, the pressures of being the one Oikawa is grooming to be the next King, how tired he is of the Hearts’ blatant disregard for loyalty, to Kyotani – _Kyotani_ , the guy Oikawa-san calls Mad-dog because of his inability of human emotions past anger, but Yahaba also knows that Oikawa-san is wrong this time, because Kyotani isn’t just…. He isn’t just….

 

“Are you… Will you follow me, Kyotani?” Yahaba asks, quietly, half-afraid of the answer. But he shouldn’t have been, shouldn’t be, because Kyotani just looks at him like he’s the crazy one (maybe he is) and replies, matter-of-factly, “What else would I be doing?”

 

And then Kyotani smashes his lips onto Yahaba’s and Yahaba is laughing into the kiss because Kyotani is rough around the edges but he’s soft inside and he can tell how hard Kyotani is trying to be gentle.

 

When they finally pull away from each other, Yahaba panting much more than Kyotani, they fall back into their seats and re-intertwine their hands.

 

“Now, why don’t we start looking?” Yahaba mumbles, unlocking his phone as Kyotani accelerates, so fast they pass a red light. “Kageyama has to be around here somewhere.”

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Wild Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haikyuu season 2 is ending tomorrow and I don't know what to do anymore *cries*
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful wonderful support :)) Enjoy!

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Suga’s voice is worried, even as he watches Kaegeyama fiddle with the safety of the long, metallic sniper rifle. He’s lying on his front on the floor of the roof, his shoulder and ankle visibly bandaged. Suga is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him.

 

“Yes,” Is Kageyama’s simple answer, his brows furried as he angles the sniper so it’s pointing straight through the second floor window overlooking the small warehouse. Suga sighs loudly in response, but the next thing he says is directed to the three others on the other line of the comms unit. “Boys, you good to go? Kageyama is in position.”

 

Three affirmative replies crackle through the earpieces in Suga and Kageyama’s ears, the most enthusiastic of the lot bringing a soft smile to Suga’s face. Kageyama allows his tensed muscles to relax as the Queen begins the count down; his head fogging over until Suga’s presence becomes background noise and all he can see are the targets in the warehouse.

 

There is the loud bang of a door being broken down, and then suddenly three figures have entered Kageyama’s vision. The boy with the shock of orange hair darts into the building first and jumps over the first man, his fingers striking at the spot below his skull before he lands back onto the ground. He runs off again, insanely fast, as his target drops to the floor lifelessly.

 

The tallest figure – Tsukishima Kei – engages the second man with a quick stab through the ribs, and Kageyama now knows why he’d had caked up blood covering his neck during breakfast. The last boy – Yamaguchi Tadashi – is almost as tall, but comparably more lean and willowy. He stays by the door; gunning down any thugs who manage to slip by his two companions.

 

Two quick shots on Kageyama’s part; and two of the four men surrounding Hinata crumple lifelessly onto the floor. Hinata’s gaze snaps up at the movement, and he nods in acknowledgment at the general direction Kageyama is at before pulling out a gun from his pocket and finishing the job.

 

Kageyama’s heart is beating so fast and hard in his chest it’s weird Sugawara doesn’t notice.

 

Sniping for the Spades is intense in a way the Hearts weren’t – Kindaichi and Kunimi had been all crisp professionalism and lazy efficiency. This however – this is all raw energy and natural instinct. Hinata’s eyes are wide and glazed over with a certain focus Kageyama can’t place. It’s a hundred and eighty degree change from his normal hyper happiness, and he has no idea where it’d come from.

 

“Fuck, there’re more in the back,” Tsukishima’s voice is slightly distorted – he’s out of Kageyama’s range. Through the scope of his rifle, he sees Yamaguchi rushing to the back of the warehouse, leaving Hinata to deal with the rest of the thugs in the front. There’s a dull panic seeping into Kageyama’s bones because Kindaichi and Kunimi have always stayed within his sight, and he doesn’t know if Tsukishima and Yamaguchi can handle themselves without any backup.

 

It seems Sugawara shares the same sentiments, as the brief rush of air against Kageyama’s cheek is enough to signal his departure. Through the comms unit, Sugawara is telling them to hold on, and that there are more people inside the warehouse than what was previously scouted.

 

Kageyama kills four more people before Sugawara reaches the warehouse.

 

By then, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi have lured the rest of the thugs into the front area. Yamaguchi has run out of bullets, so he drops the gun and backs up against Tsukishima with a knife clutched in his shaking hands. Hinata’s hackles are raised as he’s cornered by a particularly large man. The latter is smirking, the dagger in his hand sailing towards Hinata–

 

And then, in a flash of silver, Sugawara appears to deflect the blow. His other hand twists to pull the trigger of his handgun, and Kageyama watches as the bullet pierces through the gap between two ribs and takes a life. Sugawara has impeccable aim.

 

The Queen doesn’t pause, diving onto the ground and pulling Hinata with him as a barrage of bullets ricochet off the wall behind them. He’s on his feet a second later, dodging bullets and reciprocating with a fatal shot every time.

 

“Gather at the entrance. Don’t let any of them leave!” Sugawara’s voice is oddly soothing, even in this context. Kageyama can see Sugawara pointing Hinata, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi to the entrance, where some of the thugs are escaping, his right hand rising in the opposite direction to put a bullet between the eyes of another man.

 

In the short time since he’s joined the fight, Sugawara has cut the opposition’s numbers by half.

 

As Sugawara moves to dispose of the rest of the thugs, a yellow streak dashes into the room; almost knocking into Tsukishima on the way. The latter scowls in respnse. Hinata is jumping, and pointing, and shouting obnoxiously into the comms unit. Kageyama’s cobalt blue eyes narrow as he surveys the new addition – tall, with dyed, undercut hair that’s sleeked back messily from his forehead. He’s grinning as he joins the fight; completing Sugawara’s deadly dance.

 

Terushima Yuji, the wild card.

 

Kageyama has heard stories about him from the other Hearts, but he’s never met him before because the faux-blonde is more affiliated with the other suits, never having had a particular fondness for Oikawa. He’s the one member of the syndicate who doesn’t belong to any suite – the position having been created to keep each suit on their toes, to maintain the order in the syndicate.

 

Sugawara greets Terushima with a slight jab disguised in a compliment, and Terushima’s tongue piercing glints in the light when he opens his mouth to laugh deeply.

 

The Wild Card’s fighting style is reckless, almost _careless_ as compared to Sugawara’s pristine skill. It leaves a few blind spots, but Terushima is agile enough to cover most of them – Kageyama dutifully takes care of the one he can’t, and the bullet pierces through the thug’s skull before he can stab Terushima in the back.

 

Surprised, Terushima straightens and stares right into the scope of Kageyama’s sniper rifle. His almond gaze is intense, and it holds Kageyama captive for all of five seconds before Sugawara is patting Terushima on the back and pulling his eyes away.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Pledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Easter! I'm leaving y'all a huge easter egg today ;) 
> 
> Also, I know I said I'd update twice a week around two chapters ago but I have an unforeseen surplus of pre-written chapters so I'll be updating three times per week until I can't cope with the pace anymore. So, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays for now :)
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy!

“You’re the ugliest thing in this garden, Iwa-chan.”

 

Sometimes, Iwaizumi Hajime really questions why he followed his lunatic of a best friend on a quest to reach the top of a crime syndicate. Or why he’s stayed by Oikawa’s side for the past twenty-odd years, really.

 

“Shut the fuck up, stupidkawa,” Iwaizumi growls, reaching up to grip the crown of Oikawa’s head tightly. “Your ugly face pisses me off.”

 

“That’s not true and you know it, Iwa-chan!!” Oikawa whines, shaking off Iwaizumi’s grip by pulling away from him with an abrupt jerk. He takes a triumphant bite of the premium milkbread sitting on the plate in front of him when Iwaizumi settles on glaring at him from across the table.

 

Sometimes, it’s hard for Iwaizumi to differentiate between the Oikawa who is the King of his own faction of the Syndicate and the Oikawa who is his childhood friend. Over the years, the line Oikawa has sworn to draw has been blurred so much it’s _almost_ disappeared, and it’s a very jarring experience to be put in place by both.

 

To be honest, Oikawa switches between the two personas faster and more frequently than Iwaizumi is comfortable with.

 

“I asked Yahaba and Kyotani to look for Kageyama.” Oikawa’s tone is light, as if he were merely offering a passing comment. Iwaizumi feels a migraine coming along. “What? Why? If Hanamaki hears-”

 

“Makki won’t lift a finger. Even if he wants to, Mattsun will stop him – they _should_ be capable enough to realise the consequences of their actions after that little _fiasco_.” Oikawa interrupts, placing his teacup back on its saucer daintily. He sniffs, looking away. “And besides, Yahaba’s lips are sealed, so Kyoken-chan’s are too.”

 

Iwaizumi groans loudly and dunks the rest of his coffee into his mouth, ignoring the scalding temperature in favour of glaring at Oikawa. “That’s not the point, trashkawa. You shouldn’t even have mentioned Moniwa-san at alll.”

 

“Why not? Too _soon_?” Oikawa’s eyebrows are raised high on his forehead, his expression condescending. “Kaname-chan is a good case study, and you’re a fool if you thnk anything else’ll work as well, Iwa-chan. Guilt isn’t an attractive look on you!”

 

Iwaizumi wants to retort, and he also wants to smash Oikawa’s pompous face in, but he finds he can’t because Oikawa is _right_. Oikawa has always read people well, maybe even as well as the Spades’ Queen, Sugawara Koushi. And maybe Iwaizumi truly is a fool, to think that he can hide his real feelings about the Moniwa Incident from Oikawa.

 

He’s guilty. He’s so fucking guilty he drowns himself in violence, loses sleep, _burns_ down a whole house, in the futile attempt to rid himself of it. But the regret hasn’t gone away, eating away at his chest anytime someone mentions Moniwa Kaname.

 

No one knows about the photo at the bottom of his underwear drawer – the one taken months before anything happened. The one of Iwaizumi, squeezing Futakuchi’s neck in his arm. The one of Futakuchi’s face frozen in the transition between smug and shocked, Kamasaki’s normal scowl transforming into an open mouthed laugh. The one of Sasaya shooting them an exasperated look, one hand reaching to scratch at his beard. The one of Aone standing vigil just to the side, perpetual frown plastered across his stern features.

 

The one of Oikawa with that silly, silly smile dancing across his features, his arm draped casually over Moniwa’s smaller frame. The one of Moniwa, with a hand tussling his already messy jet-black hair, smiling sweetly up at Oikawa.

 

Iwaizumi will never forget. He doesn’t think he _can_.

 

“Don’t go all sentimental on me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa reprimands in a hurt tone, leaning over the table and pushing his face so close to Iwaizumi’s the tips of his hair tickle Iwaizumi’s skin. “It might be too hard on you, seeing as you don’t have a brain.”

 

Iwaizumi snatches the pillow off his chair and slaps Oikawa across the face roughly – enough to hurt, but not injure. Oikawa reels back, clutching his cheek and directing a teary eyed look at his childhood friend. Iwaizumi huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “ _Don’t_ let your guard down, asskawa. You forfeited that luxury when you decided to go through with this crazy plan.”

 

“Still not my fault you got too attached,” Oikawa replies, kind of indignantly, while running a hand through his hair. A faint frown mars his handsome features. “But Iwa-chan does make sense, for once. “

 

Iwaizumi decidedly ignores the jab in favour of reaching for the jam.

 

“We still haven’t found Futakuchi. Or his body.” Oikawa continues, leaning back in his chair as he gradually fades into his professional half. There’s a gleam to his eyes Iwaizumi recognizes immediately. “Speaking of which, what _did_ you do with Taka-chan’s body? And I was hoping he’d be nice enough to join us, too.”

 

Iwaizumi’s hand stills for a second. And then he continues spreading the sweet, red substance neatly into the crevices of his croissant. “Aone was difficult. I burned down the safehouse he was in.”

 

Oikawa sighs, absentmindedly, as the door to the greenhouse opens and distant sounds of traffic pierce through the quiet atmosphere. But his eyes are still as sharp when he looks back up at Iwaizumi. “You’re my unbeatable ace, Iwa-chan. Don’t let me down.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Is all Iwaizumi can say, frowning at what Oikawa is implying. He makes sure to meet Oikawa’s gaze confidenty. Unflinchingly. “I agreed to follow you, _pledged_ to follow you, and I won’t break my vow till I die.” He pauses for a second, watching Hanamaki and Matsukawa stroll up to the pavillion from the corner of his eye.

 

Oikawa is watching him with a narrowed gaze, his expression schooled into perfect nonchalance. Iwaizumi swallows the last of his breakfast, raising his eyebrows and returning the same look. “Besides, not _everyone_ can be a heartless asshole like you.”

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Cat Got Your Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the series tag: I realised that I'm not going to be able to explore some characters or their motivations as deeply as I wanted to, so if I manage to finish this I'm going to add on some more one-shots/mini-stories about the things I missed in RF :) (well, IF i manage to finish this T.T)
> 
> Thanks for all the support <3 Y'all always cheer me up!! Enjoy :)

“…Which is why we haven’t been supplying the Shiratorizawa faction,” Asahi says, standing in front of Daichi’s desk with a kind of sheepish confidence Daichi doesn’t understand how he manages to pull off. “It’s come to a breaking point, I think, what with tensions between the suits rising. They’re demanding for supplies, and if we don’t solve this soon, we’ll probably have a turf war on our hands.”

 

Daichi hums absentmindedly, resting his elbows on the table top and threading his fingers together. Shiratorizawa is a rising power – affiliated to the Royal Flush, but not _exactly_ a part of it. They could take them on, no problem, although Daichi knows that there are much better ways to deal with this situation.

 

Instead of rewarding Asahi with some advice, Daichi turns to Ennoshita. The prospective heir is standing beside him with a seemingly unwitting smile lifting the sides of his lips; hair parted as neatly as ever. “What do you think, Ennoshita?”

 

“Well… I’d say go ahead and sell them the small game.” Ennoshita’s smile grows a little wider, a little more knowing. “Since Oikawa-san has a problem with them, we keep any transactions secret from him to maintain inter-suit relations. Without evidence, he _can’t_ just look through our records, anyway. Shiratorizawa may be a perceived problem in the future, but they’re not any trouble right now. So… We should still sell them the small guns, some light ammo. It’s a good business offer that we can’t pass up just because of another Suit, and we should profit off it as much as we can in the meantime. It’ll keep them happy and it won’t be a problem even if they decide to turn on us.”

 

Daichi nods, a proud look blossoming on his usually stern features. Before the King can say anything, though, there are two loud raps on the front door. It promptly bursts open to reveal Daichi’s terrified secretary and a tall, wild-haired man with a matching smirk.

 

“Yo, Sawamura.” Kuroo greets with a nod, planting himself onto Daichi’s sofa and reaching to pour himself a glass of water. In response, Daichi sighs, a rather frustrated exhale through his nose, before he’s waving his secretary away and moving to sit opposite the other King.

 

Kuroo is an enigma – and an extremely powerful one, at that. His stances are always shrouded in some form of ambiguous moral code that is always shifting; always changing. He’s a natural at political play, but refuses to adhere to it in favour of pushing boundaries and testing limits. It’s a confusing pattern that Daichi, and even Tsukishima, can’t seem to follow.

 

Kuroo is not a constant, and Daichi hates him for it.

 

Of course, there’s also the wild-haired King’s increasingly dangerous obsession with Suga.

 

“ _What_ are you doing here?” Daichi questions with a raised brow, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. Ennoshita busies himself with taking a pot of tea out of the hidden pantry while Asahi gathers the scattered pieces of paper strewn about Daichi’s desk. “The water is poisoned, by the way.”

 

“Shit,” Kuroo curses, pausing in his tracks to place his untouched glass back onto the table top. Running a hand through his unruly hair, the King of Clubs shoots an intrigued look at the glass and then at Daichi. “The fuck do you even need that for?”

 

“I’m not going to ask again, Kuroo.” Daichi’s features are schooled into a polite smile, but the shadows in his eyes tell a completely different story. Ennoshita excuses himself and sets two teacups down onto the table top, filling them with steaming jasmine tea.

 

“Chill out, Sawamura,” Kuroo grins, leaning back to spread his arms on the backseat and put his feet up on the table. Daichi sniffs. “I’m just here to check on some orders I made. Since I was in the area and all, I decided to drop by to pay my favourite King and Queen a visit – although Suga-chan doesn’t seem to be here at the moment.”

 

“What would Bokuto think?” Daichi’s words are teasing, but his tone is nothing less than serious. Kuroo has learnt long ago that Daichi is the personification of faux patience, at least until Sugawara is mentioned. He just _really_ likes pushing Daichi’s buttons. “I suggest we keep this meeting short, since you don’t _actually_ have any business here. I’m busy.”

 

“You wound me!” Kuroo allows his smirk to grow, throwing his gaze out to the panoramic view of the coast, and the many ships docked at the Spades’ Port. His tone is mocking, like he’d just stolen candy from a baby. “Did Suga-chan keep you awake last night like the good little whore he is?”

 

The ensuing silence is deafening.

 

Anyone who has even a pin drop of understanding of what the Spades’, and by extension the Royal Flush’s, power structure is like knows that insulting Sugawara Koushi is courting death. His suit would willingly take a bullet and give up their own lives for him. Kuroo doesn’t really understand why, but he likes to believe it’s because Sugawara is the benevolent Queen amongst famished wolves.

 

There is no way they would stand back and watch someone slander their Queen’s good name – no way unless it’s someone outranking Sugawara himself.

 

“Don’t insult Suga-san, Kuroo-san.” Surprisingly, it is Ennoshita who breaks the suffocating tension. He’s gone back to flanking Daichi, the perpetual smile a little strained around the edges.

 

“Am I wrong?” Kuroo delights in the way Daichi’s fists are tightening around the arm rests of his chair, and he makes sure to stare the Spades’ King straight in the eye. “He probably moans for your beloved King’s cock every night, too. Does he beg for it, Sawamura? I’d imagine he does.”

 

Daichi’s knuckles have turned white.

 

“I’ve always thought about it, you know. How those nice, plump lips would look like around me. How he’d sound when I pound into him,” Kuroo’s eyes are flashing now, pupils shrinking as he leans forward, over the coffee table. “You treat him like glass, don’t you, Sawamura? Like the most delicate little flower you’ve ever had the chance to get your fucking hands on. But if I had him, I’d make sure to go so rough, so _deep_ , he’ll feel it for days to come. And I’d make sure to leave marks too. You know why, Sawamura? Because Suga-chan is a little cum slut and I’ll make him go on his knees to beg for it-”

 

Daichi’s teacup smashes onto the wall behind Kuroo with a loud crash; tiny shards of china falling to the floor noisily. Kuroo straightens where he’s seated, the corners of his mouth still curled upwards because he knows he’s won.

 

Daichi exhales very slowly. “Get the fuck out, Kuroo. _Now_.”

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Stuff Of Legends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response for the last chapter was amazeballs! Thanks for all your support :)) I really can't wait to show y'all the chapters I've already written ahhh
> 
> Enjoy :)

“Sugawara-san and Sawamura-san were partners?” Kageyama asks, fingering the edges of the photo frame. Suga and Daichi are smiling at each other in the picture, the latter’s arm thrown around the former’s shoulders. They look much younger in the black of stealth, twin assault rifles glinting in the flash of the camera.

 

“Yeah. Noya-senpai always tells me that they were legendary back in the day.” Hinata looks up from where he’s seated cross-legged on the floor, eating biscuits off the coffee table. Yamaguchi has his legs pulled towards his chest next to him, Tsukishima sprawled out on the sofa behind them. “That photo was taken when Sawamura-san was eighteen, and Suga-san sixteen, I think. Suga-san was higher ranking though! Five Spades, while Sawamura-san was only Nine.”

 

“What happened, though?” Kageyama cocks his head to the side while surveying the other pictures – of some people he doesn’t recognize, and others he does.

 

The other boys don’t need to ask to know what Kageyama is talking about – Suga had been tackled by Shimizu immediately after their return to the mansion; her voice almost frantic as she shepherded Suga away.

 

“Sawamura-san doesn’t allow Suga-san to fight anymore,” Tsukishima sighs, a long arm stretching to reach the plate of treats on the table. “Suga-san hates it, of course, everyone can see it. But Sawamura-san is really protective of him, almost possesive. He’s probably just scared Suga-san will get hurt, even if he knows Suga-san can take perfect care of himself.”

 

“I heard Sawamura-san killed a man for trying to assault Suga-san, once,” Yamaguchi whispers conspiratorially, dark brown eyes widening. “Apparently it was the previous three. Ennoshita-san got the spot afterwards.”

 

“Then… wasn’t Suga-san angry? With Sawamura-san, I mean.” Kageyama asks, genuinely surprised. Suga is a very kind person, but Kageyama knows that he’s no pushover, either. He won’t like it if others fight his battles for him. “Doing all that… kind of makes him seem like a helpless princess? But he’s not. Definitely.”

 

Hinata’s face is scrunched up, but Tsukishima interrupts the smaller before he can start. “Ehh, you’re not that bad of a judge of character... While I get where you’re coming from, Suga-san rarely gets angry, either, probably because he knows it’ll make Sawamura-san feel better if he deals with their problems himself. The only time I’ve seen him really angry was…”

 

“…Moniwa.” Hinata mutters under his breath. The entire atmosphere seems to plunge at the mere mention of the name, and Kageyama’s blood runs cold in his veins. “I thought he might actually kill Oikawa-san for what he did. I don’t think anybody’s ever seen Suga-san like that, even Sawamura-san. It was scary.”

 

There is utter silence after, only interrupted by the soft sound of chewing from Tsukishima. Yamaguchi perks up suddenly, as though he’s just realised something, before tentatively breaking the tension. “Oh yeah, Tsukki, aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

 

Kageyama turns around, arms propped against the picture frame mantle, and looks from Yamaguchi to Tsukishima and back again, frowning. “It’s almost dinner.”

 

“Tsukki is a Night Owl!” Yamaguchi pipes up proudly at Kageyama, as if it should make perfect sense. The only people he’d ever heard being called Night Owls are probably the Diamonds, who tend to go on rampages in the dead of the night with gleaming eyes from a joint too many. Oikawa had always liked complaining about their ‘hyper-active, politically oblivious’ King, who coincidentally looks like ‘a giant owl on crack’.

 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima mutters, shifting his gaze away in annoyance. “Nobody even calls it that. I just work at night, most times.”

 

“Yeah, with the King of Diamonds and King of Clubs.” Hinata retorts, sounding incredibly jealous. He aims a downtrodden gaze at his feet. Yamaguchi sniggers quietly behind his palm.

 

“Hmm… Isn’t that supposed to be a big deal?” Kageyama exhales, frown deepening. To be sent to work for another person of the same position as Oikawa-san and Sawamura-san, gaining experience and learning tricks from the best… He can see why Hinata is jealous.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Tsukishima hums, although the way he says it makes it sound like more of an insult than a compliment. He’s observing Kageyama nonchantly from behind the lens of his glasses. “I don’t know any street rats who have the ability to snipe. And you seem pretty well-groomed, for someone who was picked off the street.”

 

Kageyama pauses for a second, taken aback. It’s the first time anyone has questioned Sugawara’s decision of taking him in – although Tsukishima seems more interested in putting him in a spot and making him squirm than anything else.

 

“Work.” Kageyama shrugs, averting his gaze to the biggest photo frame on the mantle. It’s an old one, judging by the faces in it – specifically, Bokuto Kaoru and Moniwa Kaname. His gaze lands on a rather solemn-looking Oikawa Toru; back then, still the Queen of Hearts. “My… brother was the only one looking after me. We had to learn to survive, and mercenary work pays best in this city; unless you’re in the Royal Flush.”

 

“Oh,” Tsukishima mutters, letting his eyelids droop sleepily as he chews on a strawberry. “It’s really not a big deal, though, just a killing spree or two every other night. Kuroo and Bokuto both love the blood. They’re some fucked up sadists, right there.”

 

“S-sadist??” Hinata jumps up with sparkles in his eyes. “What’s that?”

 

“I don’t know.” Oddly enough, Yamaguchi has a proud look plastered across his face. “But Tsukki’s smart, isn’t he?! Suga-san found us when we tried to pick pocket him! He looks pretty harmless, overall, but Tsukki could tell he wasn’t just what he seemed.”

 

Kageyama turns back to the photo in his hand, slight frown marring his features. A significantly younger-looking Oikawa stares back at him, the edges of his mouth curved upwards slightly.

 

 

 

 

 


	15. (Not) Helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really very glad that people are enjoying this! I'm going through a little of a hard time now, and your support is really pulling me through :) Thank you for the comments and kudos :))
> 
> Enjoy!

Yaku grumbles under his breath as he pulls to a stop, swinging a leg over the body of his glossy red ducati. He winces when he pulls the sleek, black helmet off his head and is suddenly assaulted by the last dying rays of the sun.

 

Lev had insisted on having Yaku meet him by the docks for some reason, and to bring a gun or two in case. Yaku, being Yaku, had been extremely concerned for the taller boy’s well-being and had immediately dropped everything he’d been doing to rush over. Now however, parked next to Lev’s silver harley, Yaku’s having second thoughts.

 

“Now that asshole’s gonna think he can cry wolf any time he wants and I’ll magically appear,” Yaku huffs under his breath, slipping his handgun out of its holster and beginning to weave around the many rows of containers. “What a dumbass. I’m not his mom.”

 

He’s so preoccupied in his ‘Lev-ramblings’, as Kuroo calls them, that he bumps right into two rather frantic-looking men. There’s blood splattered on one of their faces, and, with a start, Yaku realises he _knows_ them. They’re part of a small start-up, something Kuroo decided to keep an eye on for the time being.

 

“Hey-!” Yaku winces when the tall blonde grabs his shoulders roughly, shoving him against the wall so hard his head bounces off it with a painful crack, his gun clattering to the floor. The blonde smirks at him nastily. “Nice timing, kid. Don’t mind if I’m gonna use you… Not like you have a choice.”

 

Belatedly, Yaku realises that they don’t seem to recognize him – although it’s not a surprise, either. Since he’s always around Lev, who’s tall and silver-haired and terrifying to his enemies, and Kai, who’s dark and mysterious and who always looks like he might be planning on killing someone, and Kuroo, enough said, the people outside of the syndicate don’t notice him as much.

 

Kenma likes saying it’s Yaku’s advantage, since everyone underestimates him, and Yaku can tell how he can think that way. But Kenma doesn’t understand, either, being the genius, childhood friend of the King of Clubs. It’s a terrible feeling to be overlooked.

 

A gunshot echoes against the tall walls of the containers, and the second man falls onto the floor lifelessly. The blonde immediately pulls Yaku’s back flush against his front, the cold metal of the barrel of a gun resting on his temple.

 

Lev is standing at the opposite end of the narrow passageway, his feet planted slightly apart. A shadow has fallen over his normally expressive eyes, but it immediately dissipates into shock and anger when he catches sight of Yaku.

 

“D-Don’t come nearer, or I’ll shoot!” The blonde’s voice is wavering, and Yaku can feel the tremours from where his head is pressed to the blonde’s neck. Lev’s eyes have widened and are filled with worry, biting on his lower lip as he slowly lowers his gun-

 

Yaku has to supress the extremely tempting urge to roll his eyes. Fucking amateurs. This isn’t a fucking drama.

 

“Oi,” Yaku deflects the gun with a quick grab at the blonde’s wrist. The blonde reacts a second too late, and the bullet flies harmlessly through air. Yaku has studied martial arts all his life – and it shows when he easily flips the taller, bigger blonde over himself and onto the ground, snatching the gun from the blonde’s fingers before jamming two bullets right through his skull. It’s over within seconds. Yaku scoffs, kicking at the limp body. “Don’t treat me like I’m fucking helpless, you piece of shit.”

 

“Yaku-saaaaaan!!!” Lev breaks into a sprint with his arms outstretched. “I was so worried-”

 

“You too, you big oaf,” Is Yaku’s cold reply as he smacks the taller half-russian on the arm, directing his best glare up at the giant silver-haired boy. “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

 

“But still, Yaku-san!” Lev whines, pouting like the big baby he is. He perks up after seeing the two dead bodies on the ground, starting to drag Yaku away by the wrist. It’s not that hard, after all, since Yaku is only a little more than half of Lev’s height. “Kuroo-san said I could become the ace, Yaku-san!! So he told me to practice on these bad people who’re hijacking Bokuto-san’s stock.”

 

“The ace?!” Yaku mutters, brows furrowing. Everyone knows that becoming the ace is Lev’s ultimate goal, but that’s Kai’s position right now. “And why did you start without me, you brat? What if you got hurt?!”

 

“Don’t worry, Yaku-san! I’m getting better every-!” Lev’s words seem to drown in a sea of static when he throws open a door, hands on Yaku’s shoulders to steer him inside.

  
The entire room is drowned in blood. There are bodies lying everywhere, bleeding out onto the ground. There are… _children_ sprawled out on the ground, or in their parents’ arms. But the only thing Yaku can truly think of is the growing horror in his gut and that it had been _Lev_ that had done this. Excitable, happy, careless _Lev_.

 

“Wha-” Yaku’s amber gaze flickers from the bloody scene in front of him to the expecting grey eyes behind him. Finding himself at a loss for words, Yaku can only force a smile. “G-good job, Lev.”

 

Those familiar grey eyes, so filled with emotion, are suddenly sparkling, and Yaku can’t bear to think that this same boy massacred an entire room of defenceless people. He would need to talk to Kuroo about it, definitely, as soon as he can. The King has been acting pretty oddly lately, so he should bring that up as well, since-

 

Yaku’s entire train of thought is broken when Lev pulls him outside and presses him against a wall, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Surprised, Yaku gasps when his back hits the wall – for the second time that day, but for a comparably more pleasant task – and moans when Lev takes advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue into Yaku’s mouth.

 

They separate at that, Lev beaming down at a furiously blushing Yaku, whose hand rests on his mouth in embarassment. “A-Ah, I didn’t mean that…”

 

“Yaku-san,” Lev leans into Yaku so close the tips of his fringe brush against Yaku’s forehead. Yaku gasps, face flushing even redder, when a large hand moves to cup him through his pants. Lev moans at that, biting down on his lower lip. “Why are you so cute, Yaku-san?”

 

Yaku pushes at Lev’s chest when he moves to initiate another kiss, averting his gaze. “L-Let’s not do t-this here, Lev. Anyone could walk by and see…”

 

“Let them!” Lev replies cheerfully, interrupting himself to suck on the salty skin on Yaku’s neck. He allows a smirk to overcome his features when he slips his hand into the front of Yaku’s pants, the smaller’s breath hitching. “I won’t let anyone come between us. I want you _now_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELLO tbh I'm really nervous about this chapter because I've never written anything like this before.... :") Quite proud of it though HAHA Thanks for all your support <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Suga is looking through a few of the Spades’ financial accounts when Daichi returns, stalking into the room purposefully while sliding off his tie and shrugging off his jacket. Suga smiles gracefully at him, happiness flooding his expression when he stands to greet him. “Welcome home, baby. You’re pretty early today-”

 

Suga is cut off when Daichi slips his hands around his waist, pulling him in close. Startled, Suga obliges his King’s silent command and tilts his head to deepen the kiss, hands framing Daichi’s jaw to pull him closer.

 

It’s a nice kiss, Daichi has always given him nice kisses, but Suga can sense the annoyance behind it clearly. He pulls away, previously elated expression softening into gentle concern. “What’s wrong, Dai?”

 

Daichi’s eyes widen, surprised at how quickly he’s been seen through. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply a moment later, shifting Suga in his embrace so that he’s fully enveloped in Daichi’s warmth. Curious, golden eyes peer up at him from where Suga’s head is nestled in the crook of Daichi’s neck. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Dai. Please.”

 

“…Kuroo came by my office today.” Daichi mutters, a hard edge to his otherwise tender tone. He slides a hand through Suga’s grey hair, entangling the soft strands between his callous-hardened fingers. Suga stiffens slightly, because Kuroo and Daichi don’t exactly get along – a visit like that can only mean trouble. “He was… absolutely infuriating. Like usual. But today… I couldn’t help myself.”

 

Suga blinks as Daichi guides them towards the wall, loosening his arms to fall on Suga’s hips so that the smaller of the two is fully backed against it. Suga runs a thumb over Daichi’s jaw soothingly, worry vivid in his golden gaze. “What did you do, baby?”

 

“I didn’t hurt him,” Daichi replies, leaning down to press his forehead against Suga’s, hands cupping his face lovingly. _You treat him like glass, don’t you, Sawamura? Like the most delicate little flower you’ve ever had the chance to get your fucking hands on._ Daichi growls, and then flinches back when Suga winces under his tightened grip. He backs away immediately, clenching his fists at his sides. _I will protect him. I’ll never let anyone hurt him ever again_. “I’m sorry.”

 

Realisation dawns in Suga’s eyes, and he crosses the distance between them without hesitation. They’ve been together for _years_ , and he knows Daichi’s moods and insecurities like the back of his hand. He has their circumstances, their history, their _everything_ , memorized and mapped out under the cover of his eyelids.

 

“It’s _fine_ , Daichi. You’re not going to hurt me. Ignore Kuroo. He doesn’t matter, remember? Not to you, and not to me.” Suga reaches out to cup Daichi’s cheek, staring sincerely into his conflicted gaze. “I love you, Daichi, and I’m not going to go anywhere.”

 

And then Daichi is pushing them up against the wall, trailing kisses along Suga’s neck and leaving dark marks where he’s too eager. Suga’s breath hitches, a soft whine escaping his parted lips as he secures his legs around Daichi’s waist; his arms resting around Daichi’s broad, steady shoulders.

 

“I love you so much, Koushi.” Daichi mutters, punctuating each word with a quick kiss to Suga’s lips. He’s walking towards their bedroom, barely registering Suga’s weight even in movement. It’s natural. They fit together like two matching puzzle pieces. “You complete me, baby. I love you so much.”

 

Suga moves his attention to Daichi’s neck, stopping the latter’s sweet kisses by tilting his head and pressing his lips to his skin. Daichi’s grip on Suga only tightens at this, his pupils dilating at the sensation of Suga sucking and pulling Daichi’s skin between his teeth.

 

Daichi lowers Suga onto their bed gently, and Suga lets his head fall back onto a pillow with a sweet smile on his face. There’s just something about the way Suga’s face is flushed, how his silver hair is splayed out on the pillow, away from his face, that makes Daichi hotter with desire. It just solidifies Daichi’s love and trust for him; how he knows that no one – not a single soul on the entire earth – has ever and will ever see Suga like this; vulnerable, his eyes filled with love.

 

With quick efficiency, Daichi unbuttons his shirt and slips it off; falling back onto his forearms to continue kissing Suga. When they meet, Suga’s mouth is open and waiting, allowing Daichi dominance without a fight. As a reward, Daichi bends his knee and moves it between Suga’s legs, pressing insistently against the growing bulge in his pants.

 

Suga’s back arches off the bed, his whine silenced in their open-mouthed kissing, when Daichi’s fingers slip beneath his shirt and find a nipple. He plays with it for awhile – pinching the nub and rolling it about between his fingers – just to enjoy the sensation of Suga’s sweet moans muffled and reverberating in his mouth.

 

“Promise me, baby,” Daichi pulls back to look at Suga, his hand sliding below the waistband of his boxers to curve around Suga’s pulsating heat. Suga’s breath hitches, face scrunching up from the overwhelming sensations, and then he outright moans when Daichi presses a finger down onto his slit; face flushing deeper. “Promise me that you’ll never let anyone else touch you this way.”

 

“I-I… I-” Suga stutters, squirming for more friction as he blinks back tears of frustration. Daichi catches his wrists in one hand and anchors them down, above Suga’s head. “I p-promise, D-Dai. Never. I w-would never!”

 

“I love you, Koushi.” Daichi smiles, releasing Suga’s arms so he can pull down Suga’s pants and boxers in one go. Suga, ever the angel, tugs his shirt over his head as Daichi dribbles lube over his swollen head; spreading Suga’s cheeks to do the same to his hole.

 

Suga groans loudly when Daichi enters him slowly, fingers struggling for purchase as the sensation of having something so big fill him up overwhelms him. Daichi is already panting – Suga is tight, so _tight_ because they haven’t had the time to go all out like this for weeks, and he’s being _swallowed_ by warmth on all sides.

 

“D-Daichi!” Suga moans as Daichi starts thrusting, reaching up to grab onto Daichi’s back with blunt nails. Daichi tilts his head to kiss his beautiful, silver haired Queen deeply, angling his movements so that-

 

Suga suddenly pulls back with widened eyes, oblivious to the trail of saliva that’s still connecting them because he’s keening loudly, and Daichi knows that he’s found Suga’s sweet spot. Smile morphing slightly into a knowing smirk, Daichi pounds relentlessly into Suga, who’s already writhing uncontrollably below him.

 

“I-I’m almost there, D-Dai!” Suga’s voice is trembling, and Daichi realises how close he actually is. The taller of the two reaches out to give Suga a few helpful pumps, and then, with a pair of loud cries, they finish together; white spurting across Suga’s chest and filling up his hole.

 

“You do know you’re mine, too.” Suga murmurs sleepily as Daichi falls onto the bed next to him, gathering him close in a warm embrace. Daichi chuckles lowly, nuzzling his nose into Suga’s silver locks and inhaling his tantalizing scent. “I do. And I absolutely love it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Karma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad you guys are enjoying this as much as I am! Thanks for the support!! :) cries your comments are so amazing!
> 
> Enjoy :))

Kuroo pulls Kenma flat against his front, one hand securely around the smaller’s torso while the other hooks his dyed hair behind his ear. Kuroo’s legs are spread to accommodate Kenma in his lap, his hard-on pressing against the small of Kenma’s back.

 

“Mmm.. We should get you to the salon, soon.” Kuroo mutters before nibbling on the tip of Kenma’s ear, trailing kisses down his neck. Kenma is already red in the face from embarassment; but that’s just because they’re not alone.

 

On the opposite couch, Bokuto drapes an arm over his forehead dramatically as he peers at them, looking away whenever Kuroo’s sharp eyes glance over at him. “Bro… I can totally come back later if you want.”

 

“T-That’s not necessary,” Kenma replies softly, pushing Kuroo away. He shoots Kuroo a sideways glare that’s mostly just ruined by how much he’s blushing, and leaves to sit at the counter; in front of his laptop.

 

“Che,” Kuroo scoffs, running a hand through his wild hair and dismissing the smaller faux blonde. “That stick-up-his-ass Sawamura gets Suga-chan while _I_ get stuck with this little prude. Fuck. Talk about unfair.”

 

The way Kenma stifens in his seat, incessant typing pausing for a second, is overlooked by both the other occupants of the Clubs’ lounge.

 

“Sugawara Koushi? The Spades’ Queen?” One of Bokuto’s eyebrows arches even more than usual, golden eyes glinting. Kuroo isn’t normally this forward about his thoughts, or this _brash_ , either. “What does he have to do with anything?”

 

“He’s… I _want_ him, Bokuto,” Kuroo says, rather unabashedly. Bokuto straightens at the other King’s tone, staring at the cracks forming in Kuroo’s coventionally shiny, impenetrable façade. “The way he looks so innocent? It just screams at me that he’s fucking amazing in bed. Even if he’s some blushing virgin and not the whore I think he is, it’ll be fun to fuck that up. To sully that kind of perfection. If I had him I’d fuck him till he won’t even know his own name-”

 

Kenma slaps the lid of his laptop shut and stalks out of the room. The door slams shut behind him.

 

“…You have Kenma, though,” Bokuto just looks confused at Kuroo’s outburst, his golden gaze darting between the King of Clubs and the door Kenma’s just walked out through. Maybe he’d come at a bad time. “And Sugawara-san and Sawamura-san have been together for ages… You can’t just _say_ that, Tetsu.”

 

“Kenma’s become boring. He never puts out when I want him to, and he’s always preoccupied with his fucking video games, it’s the only thing he thinks about.” Kuroo waves a hand dismissively, leaning back on the couch and frowning at his disappearing hard-on. He looks back up at Bokuto, a haughty edge seeping into his signature smirk. “Well, I can. And I did, right to Sawamura’s face.”

 

Bokuto’s mouth drops open in shock, but then he frowns and points at Kuroo disbelievingly, eyes narrowed. “You’re still alive, though.”

 

Kuroo laughs loud and rabunctious, throwing his head back in the motion. He’s wiping tears from his eyes when he settles enough to reply to Bokuto. “Sawamura’s always been a bit of a coward, although he _did_ throw his cup at me. Truthfully, I’d been expecting more, since I insulted Suga-chan’s honour and all, but I guess you can’t actually act against another King unless you wanna start something.”

 

“I’m still surprised you’re not dead. Sawamura-san treats Sugawara-san like glass, and you think it’s because Sugawara-san’s helpless and stuff, but then he turns around and Sawamura-san’s all wrapped tight around his little finger.” Bokuto raises his own finger, and Kuroo lifts an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic observations. “Or at least that’s what I _think_ Akaashi was trying to say.”

 

Kuroo‘s eyebrow falls back in place, and he hums, taking a cigarette out of a half-empty packet. “Speaking of, where _is_ Akaashi? I’ve never seen you two apart for so long before.”

 

“Oh, he told me he found a stray dog or something, so he always goes back to his apartment to take care of it,” Bokuto sulks, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. His eyes regain their energy in the span of a second. “It’s only a temporary thing, though! He says he only needs to nurse it back to health before he’ll let it go free.”

 

“Ahh, interesting.” Kuroo exhales a small pume of smoke through his nostrils, his tone saying otherwise. “Don’t tell him about anything I said, though. About Suga-chan. They’ve always been pretty close.”

 

“No problem!!” Bokuto grins, shooting a thumbs-up at Kuroo. He cocks his head to the side a second after, features morphing into a frown. “Although… How’re you so sure? You’ve been talking like you know you’ll get him.”

 

“Suga-chan’s been a tease for far too long, that tempting little minx, and I’d take him even if he were kicking and screaming the whole way.” Kuroo replies matter-of-factly. At Bokuto’s questioning look, he shrugs. “It’s karma.”

 

“Well, whatever you say.” Bokuto says, half-disbelievingly, “You’ll never get through Sawamura-san.”

 

…

 

Terushima is waiting outside the apartment when Akaashi gets there, arms ladden with shopping bags from the supermarket down the road. The blonde turns where he’s leaning against the wall, all lithe muscle and casual arrogance. “Sour gummies?”

 

“Yes,” Akaashi’s eyes narrow slightly as he pulls his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the front door with all the grace of a practiced tightrope walker. “And some other things he’ll need so he doesn’t starve.”

 

When they shuffle into the apartment, Terushima closing the door behind Akaashi, a tall, long-limbed body bounds through the hallway with a few confident strides, pulling the bags from Akaashi’s hands in a clean swipe. Brown eyes widen in delight when they spot the treat.

 

“Ahh! Sour gummies!” Futakuchi Kenji grins lopsidedly, returning Terushima’s mock salute. “You’re a life saver, Akaashi.”

 

 

 

 


	18. Nothing Permanent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just wondering which character will be the most hated by the end LOL you guys already have such negative opinions about Kuroo and I'm just getting started!!
> 
> Thanks for the amazing support! <3 Enjoy :)

“It’s too fucking early for this shit,” Hanamaki curses, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he watches Matsukawa lock their Jaguar F, his wide eyes looking sleepier than normal. It beeps quietly; the only sound in the silent district. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

 

“Well, tough luck, Makki,” Oikawa grumbles from the passenger-seat of a porsche. Hanamaki takes delight in seeing that even his King looks worse for wear. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he turns off the engine, the two-seater going still. “You two go in first. I need to give Yahaba-chan a call.”

 

“Alright, boss, whatever you say.” Hanamaki’s gaze narrows slightly as he bows mockingly, turning to lead the way towards the large building sitting on the corner of the street. Matsukawa catches up easily, long legs striding in time with Hanamaki’s as their breath forms clouds from the early morning chill.

 

He might never admit it to anyone other than Matsukawa, but he’s truthfully down-right pissed when it comes to Oikawa and Yahaba’s relationship.

 

Hanamaki is the _Queen_ , the official second-in-command, but it never matters when it comes down to it. He’s never trusted with making his own decisions, never even allowed to, actually, and it’s obvious his position is just a formality; just another pawn in Oikawa’s expansive arsenal. He has no real power in the Hearts – no one other than Oikawa does.

 

When Oikawa told him and Issei that he wanted to be King, they dropped to a knee and pledged their allegiances to him. When Oikawa told Hanamaki he needed Sasaya gone, Hanamaki single-handedly hatched a scheme to frame him; personally slicing his neck open at the end of it and watching crimson spill through his fingers like a river of condemnation.

 

And then all of a sudden, Oikawa brings obedient, sweet-featured, light-haired _Yahaba_ into the picture and showers all his attention onto him like he’s some kind of doll Oikawa is training to be the second version of him. Yahaba Shigeru – Oikawa 2.0, complete with Kyouken-chan, the more aggressive, less sensible version of Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

Hanamaki wants to scream in frustration.

 

“You can’t kill Yahaba.” Matsukawa comments, droopy eyes regarding Hanamaki in a deadpan. They’ve been friends for so long, it’s easy to read each other – almost like flipping through the pages of a well-worn book. Hanamaki pauses for a second before he shrugs in response, averting his gaze towards the doors in front of them. “A man can dream.”

 

The double doors are pulled open by a pair of girls; their smiles charming even as the cold winds linger and goosebumps appear on their exposed flesh. A rush of hot air ruffles Matsukawa’s comparably wilder mop of hair as Hanamaki sighs in relief at the more hospitable temperature, sliding his gaze in a 360 degree round around the lobby.

 

There are many girls, all of them beautiful and dressed only in lingerie, scattered around the lobby. The new ones look surprised, since it isn’t often business comes in at the start of a working day instead of at the end of one, but the older ones shrink into themselves slightly, bowing as they pass.

 

Hanamaki has always been aware of how both him and Matsukawa present themselves, and by extension how others view them. In this case, it’s obvious to the women that they’re not there to seek pleasure – not with the handguns peeking out from under Hanamaki’s jacket, or the lazy confidence they both exude even in such a shady neighbourhood.

 

“Ahh, Hanamaki-san, Matsukawa-san. What do I have the pleasure of helping you with today?” The woman in charge here is middle-aged, black hair tied back into an elegant bun, and Hanamaki has forgotten her name. Her lips are red and pursed as she pauses, and Hanamaki is taken aback by how much she resembles his old primary school teacher.

 

Hanamaki almost laughs at the irony.

 

“Spot check, both inventory and funds – and a little tour for your King.” Is Matsukawa’s concise reply, already looking bored as he surveys the decorations littering the reception area. This is _Heaven’s Palace_ – one of their bigger establishments, but definitely nowhere near the top. It _is_ one of their most popular whore houses, however, because of a winning combination of convenience, price and ambience.

 

Hanamaki lets his lips quirk upwards into a haughty smirk as he regards the matron, cheek resting on the fist propped on the counter between them. “Oikawa-san is settling some business before he joins us, so I’d be quick if I were you.”

 

“Misaki,” The woman calls, and a girl who had been standing idly beside a pillar walks towards them – hips swinging from side to side in a seductive gait, coy smile playing on her lips. Her hair is long and wispy, in a very familiar shade of brown-blonde Hanamaki recognizes immediately. Wide, caramel-coloured eyes are contemplating them even as she turns on the charm. “Please go and inform the last of our customers that they will have to leave in the next few-”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Hanamaki interrupts, straightening slightly in interest as he surveys the girl. The resemblance is striking. This might do. He turns back to the woman. “I’d like to have her, for awhile. How much?”

 

“Misaki – Room 30,” The woman directs, lips pursed again, as though she’d much rather not have to go through with the transaction. The girl turns around, cocking her head at Hanamaki, before leaving as instructed. “Four hundred, Hanamaki-san.”

 

Matsukawa grabs his arm tightly as he reaches for his wallet, and Hanamaki looks up to meet an uncharacteristically fierce gaze. “Don’t hurt innocent people to make yourself feel better, Takahiro.”

 

“How rough can I go?” Hanamaki twists in the iron grip, raising a slim eyebrow at the woman. She regards them warily. “Nothing permanent. We have regulations-”

 

“You heard her, Mattsun.” Hanamaki spits, glaring at his friend as he pulls his arm out of his hold. He tries to ignore Matsukawa’s heavy gaze as it follows his faux-saunter towards the elevator. “Nothing permanent.”

 

 

 

 

 


	19. Indulgent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the summary, if you guys didn't notice! Also the update is later today because I went to watch the boys' volleyball match (and found a really cute libero) HAHA
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy :)

Kenma has always thought of himself as indulgent to Kuroo’s demands, no matter how ridiculous they had been. They’ve been friends since they were toddlers, which is why they’re always understanding of each other’s habits – Kenma’s of being too detached from reality, and Kuroo’s of being too focused on a goal; so much so any sacrifice is possible.

 

Moniwa is a fine example.

 

There had been a reason neither the Clubs nor the Diamonds had stepped in when what happened, terrible as it may have been, happened. And that reason is Kuroo. Kuroo, whose plans Moniwa, King of the Hearts, had opposed for years. Kuroo, whose influence over Bokuto is substantial. Kuroo, who has always worked well with the cold, ruthless, potential-King Oikawa Toru. Kuroo, who gets under Daichi’s skin – and distracts him – as easily as breathing.

 

The Royal Flush is the way it is today because of Kuroo.

 

And sometimes, Kenma gets scared because that kind of power is not something he wants turned on him. A year ago, he may never even have had a thought like that occur to him – could _never_ have thought to feel that way about his closest childhood friend, but the situation now is very different from the situation a year ago, and Kuroo is a much less stable person now than he has ever been.

 

Kenma is drawn out of his thoughts as the door opens and Yaku enters the lounge. Kuroo is drinking again; two bottles emptied and it’s not even close to noon. Yaku shoots a concerned look at Kenma, almost as though he were asking _what’s wrong with him_ through his gaze. Kenma shrugs, cocks his head and narrows his cat-like eyes in a way that says _nothing, this is normal now_.

 

“Hey, Kuroo.” Yaku starts casually, gingerly sitting down on the couch opposite the one Kuroo is slouching on. The King looks up, hollow gaze penetrating, and grunts in acknowledgement. “I met Lev yesterday for a job he said you sent him on, but there was something really odd about it.”

 

“Oh really?” Kuroo asks, raising an eyebrow as he takes a long swig of his third bottle of beer. “Couldn’t be that bad if you two were in the mood to screw right after, am I right?”

 

Yaku turns bright red at that, puffing slightly as though he were an angry cat. “T-That’s not the point, Kuroo, you asshat. There were _children_ in the building – and Kenma stops typing at this point, because he isn’t going to pretend he isn’t listening when Kuroo obviously knows he is – and none of them were armed, except for a few guards. It was a fucking massacre, Kuroo.”

 

“I know.” Kuroo’s eyebrow remains raised, as though he’s still waiting for Yaku to get to the punchline. Kenma’s blood turns cold. “You think I don’t? I sent Lev on that mission because I wanted to see if he could do it, if he could kill indiscriminately, and he did. We’re the Royal Flush, Yaku. We kill people – or did you forget?”

 

Yaku looks furious at Kuroo’s reply, and understandably so. Kuroo has never been _that_ negligiant of human lives. In fact, most of the time he’s only felt like he needs to kill when people disrespect him or his suit.

 

“We kill people,” Kenma nods, voice soft, but two pairs of eyes are drawn to him immediately. He manages to look Kuroo in the eye, even if those sharp, golden orbs are sparking in agitation. “But we’re not psychopaths. We don’t kill people who don’t mess with us. We don’t kill needlessly.”

 

“And that’s the type of attitude that has made us _weak_ ,” Kuroo snarls, slamming his bottle onto the tabletop with a loud smack. Kenma flinches, and Yaku’s eyes grow big. Kuroo rolls his eyes as he pops the lid of a new bottle. “Lev, at least, knows what he needs to do to become the ace.”

 

“So it _was_ you. _You’ve_ been encouraging Lev to become the ace.” Yaku’s frown is so deep the wrinkle that forms between his brows looks permanent. “Kai is the ace, Kuroo. What were you thinking? Were you hoping Lev would up and kill Kai in his sleep? Or were you hoping that Kai would get insecure and end Lev before he can try anything?”

 

“What if I was, huh, Yaku?” Kuroo’s grip on the bottle tightens so much and so quickly that it shatters violently. Yaku takes a step backwards, hand cupping his face, right above his cheekbone and dangerously close to his eye, where a large gash has formed from a broken shard. Kuroo closes the distance between them in one stride, throwing the bottle to the side. Alcohol leaks into the carpet. “What if I’m still hoping that at least one of my _supposed_ elite few will grow a pair and fight for what they want, for once? Is it too fucking hard for you to get your head out of that mentality, Yaku? We’re weak like this. We need to get stronger.”

 

“But not at the cost of losing ourselves!” Yaku retorts, lip curling in an angry scowl even as Kenma pulls at his arm warningly, strength increasing with each tug. “You don’t make any fucking sense right now, Kuroo. We’re the body’s blood. We leave no one behind, and we damn right don’t turn on ourselves. It’s your own fucking motto you-”

 

“And I’m fucking changing it right now.” Kuroo snarls, lashing forward and curling his fingers around Yaku’s throat. Immediately, Yaku’s hands fly upwards in an attempt to pry Kuroo’s fingers off. The small blond’s mouth is open and gasping for air that just can’t reach his lungs. Kuroo’s lips are curving upwards, his expression dark as he waits for the light in Yaku’s eyes to die.

 

Unfortunately for him, Kuroo never gets to witness it.

 

“Stop it!” Kenma shocks himself as he steps between the two, slapping Kuroo’s hand away from Yaku with as much force as he can muster. Stunned, Kuroo releases Yaku, the latter crumpling onto the floor in a coughing fit. Kenma’s eyes are wide, even when his pupils have shrunken into pinpoints. “Why are you acting this way, Tetsurou? You’ve changed. You used to know where to draw the line. Now, I don’t even know if I can call you the same person as the Kuroo I know because you’re just a hollow shell of him!”

 

Kenma is expecting it, definitely, but he never actually believed Kuroo would do it.

 

The punch is blatant and cold and it sends Kenma sprawling onto the floor. Yaku springs to his feet, planting himself between his King and Queen even as he’s gulping down painful breaths desperately. Yaku’s still trying to protect him, but Kenma doesn’t know if he and Kuroo still deserve that loyalty.

 

“Both of you, get… get out of my sight.”

 

Kuroo’s voice betrays a kind of exhaustion Kenma hasn’t heard before, but his heart is aching so badly he can’t pay much attention to it.

 

Weird. Kenma thinks, as Yaku supports his deadweight in standing and walking away. Why is it Kuroo hit his face, but it’s his heart that’s hurting?

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Crushing Daisies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE REACHED 200 KUDOS :)
> 
> oKAY so this chapter specifically is very important to me personally because it's the chapter that this entire fic spawned from (I don't know how, it just happened) and it's also one of the scenes in the story that still remained even after a few rounds of editing. Also, evidently, I'm bad at naming chapters.
> 
> It's also not even saturday anymore BUT I have legitimate reasons (i.e. concert day!!) which is why I'm posting this so late :")
> 
> Anyway, thanks for all your support! Enjoy <3

“Is… Is it safe for you to go out like this, Suga-san?” Kageyama pipes up nervously as he walks side-by-side with the silver-haired Queen, hands shoved deep into his pockets and face half-buried in the collar of his sweater even as rays of sunlight stream onto the sidewalk happily.

 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Suga replies, chuckling a little as he reaches to ruffle Kageyama’s hair affectionately. “Ennoshita’s taking care of the patrols. We’re always the safest in Spade territory.”

 

They fall into step easily, and Kageyama finds himself listening intently to the pleasant tunes Suga hums under his breath. It’s an effortless kind of companionship Kageyama is sure he can only have with Sugawara – no one else is as good at acting oblivious to Kageyama’s natural scowl as he is.

 

Sugawara is the nicest person Kageyama has ever met, but at the same time, there’s an aura around him that promises retribution on anyone who has ever done him wrong. He’s kind, but he’s not a pushover. He’s ruthless, but not cruel. He’s ambitious, but not overly power hungry. His entire existence is a contradiction itself, because Kageyama can easily see Suga sitting on the throne of a King – and not just the songbird perched on its armrest.

 

There are few people who can resist the temptations of claiming the King’s seat, and much less so once they’re a mere step away from close-to-absolute power. Lord knows Oikawa has never had the kind of restraint Sugawara does.

 

Suga is the kind of person who wouldn’t have any qualms with killing someone he perceives as a threat, but at the same time, Suga is alike Oikawa in the way that he leaves no stone unturned; no known sliver of truth to escape him.

 

Suga definitely knows who he is, and Kageyama doesn’t want to lie to him anymore.

 

“Don’t you think these are nice, Kageyama?” Suga pipes up from where he’s examining some large, cream flowers. The old lady manager of the store had smiled to them when they walked in, going back to trimming the thorns off some roses. Suga must be a regular. “Magnolias – the flower of nobiity. I’m thinking of displaying these in the foyer.”

 

Suga grins, spinning around to place a small, white and yellow flower in Kageyama’s palms. “These daisies are going in the dining room. They mean loyalty and love in the language of flowers.”

 

Kageyama’s jaw clenches, an almost invisible tick below the skin of his cheek, and then he’s pulling on Suga’s arm and stopping him from flouncing off to another large pot of flowers. “Sugawara-san, I need to tell you something.”

 

Suga straightens immediately, looking up at Kageyama with concern etched into his golden orbs. Grey eyebrows furrowing, he reaches out to squeeze Kageyama’s arm comfortingly. “What is it, Kageyama? Is something wrong? Are your wounds acting up again?”

 

“No!” Kageyama shouts, and then grimaces guility because he’s being too harsh. Absently, he wonders if being Oikawa’s younger brother contributed to his current social inadequacy. Suga doesn’t flinch at his tone, only looking at him expectantly – offering him his undivided attention. Kageyama squeezes his eyes shut. “No, there’s nothing wrong, Sugawara-san. The Spades have been very welcoming and nice and it’s just amazing here, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced because it’s so warm and… and I don’t want to ruin it all by being here.”

 

“Kageyama, you’re not going to ruin anything by being here with us,” Sugawara shakes his head, patting his arm as a gentle smile blossoms on his lips. “Honestly, I enjoy having you around, and I’m sure the others do too. You’re not a burden, Kageyama. Don’t ever let yourself think that way.”

 

“You don’t understand, Sugawara-san!” Kageyama turns around, pulling away from Suga, so that his back is facing the silver-haired queen. His fists are clenched, daisy crushed between his fingers. “I’m endangering everyone just by being here, being with you, because… because I’m Oikawa Toru’s brother! He’s going to hunt me down, and he’s going to kill everyone who helped me, and I don’t want to drag you down like that.”

 

Kageyama is expecting Suga to snap, to hit him, to scream at him, to get angry – but none of those happen. Instead, the warm, soothing hand on his arm is back and Suga’s voice is close and soft.

 

“I know, Kageyama, and it doesn’t matter.” Kageyama startles slightly, under the impossible kindness of Sugawara Koushi, and stares out the window resolutely as Suga continues. “I’ve known since you were wounded and passed out in my guest bedroom – I would be a fool if I hadn’t done a background check on you. But I just want you to know that none of it matters. Oikawa chased you out of the hearts, and I’m just taking in an an injured kid I found on the streets.”

 

Kageyama is shaking – from fear or reluctance of what he’s about to do, he doesn’t know. All he’s sure of is that now is the time. He has to let Suga know the whole truth, because he’s not going to hide behind his generous protection without being fair to him as well. He sucks in a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter, Sugawara-san? Even though I was the one who ended Moniwa-san’s life?”

 

And Kageyama can almost feel as Suga’s smile slips entirely off his face, the hand on his arm going limp. This is it – Suga hadn’t known about his greatest sin. Now he does, and he’ll hate him like everyone else.

 

“I was the last sniper, that day. The others were telling me about how upset you were over what happened to Moniwa-san, and I don’t want to trample on your goodwill as your best friend’s murderer.” Kageyama’s breath hitches, and he realizes there are tears dripping down his face. “I’m so sorry, Sugawara-san. I’m so-”

 

“Don’t apologize.” Suga’s voice is slightly harsh, most likely from the shock, but the warmth in his tone is still present. Kageyama’s eyes widen as he feels Suga’s arms circle around his torso, pressing his body against his. “Oikawa sentenced Kaname to a fate much worse than death. Your bullet was one of mercy – I understand that, at least, Kageyama, and I apreciate it.”

 

Everything seems to be going in slow motion – Kageyama’s mind struggling to catch up with Suga’s words. Sugawara-san… understands?

 

There is a sudden flash of silver, and Kageyama’s body starts working on overdrive; much faster than his mind can keep up. He tackles Suga to the floor in one swift moment as a sleek, silver sports car rushes by. The lady at the counter startles at the loud thump.

 

Suga groans, clutching at the back of his head and directing his confused expression at Kageyama. The latter frowns, dread stirring heavy in his bowels, as he looks back down at the silver-haired Queen.

 

“I think… I recognize that car.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	21. Vices of the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder, since shit is going to go down real soon, that this fic is going to get a lot more fucked up than it is already! haha great!
> 
> Thanks for the support :_) I'm really glad people are enjoying my work! <3

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you?” Bokuto’s eyes are large and amber and intruding into Kenma’s personal space, so Akaashi hooks his collar on his finger and pulls Bokuto away from the small faux-blonde.

 

Akaashi doesn’t blame his excitable King – not when he sees the black and blue bruise spreading across the hollow of Kenma’s eye, the area around his cheekbone the most swollen. “Kozume-san, are you alright? Do you need some ice?”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Kenma replies softly, and Akaashi finds it rather odd that the Queen’s gameboy – a signature in itself – isn’t connected in any way whatsoever to his hands. Kenma’s gaze is wide, pupils tiny, as he regards them shyly. “I just need some help with… medication from the two of you.”

 

Akaashi half expects Bokuto to agree immediately, enthusiastically, because this is Kuroo’s Queen and Bokuto is always supportive about things that have anything to do with Kuroo.

 

But Bokuto stays silent this time, staring at Kenma with an intense, golden gaze even Akaashi can’t decipher. It takes a few moments, moments in which the silence accumulates until it’s almost tangible, and then Bokuto turns his head to Akaashi and nods, ever so slightly.

 

Akaashi pulls his phone out of his pocket and types a quick message to Shirofuku, managing a small quirk of the lips for the other Queen in quiet assurance. “It’s definitely no problem, Kenma-san. Shirofuku-san will be waiting for you at the foyer, just tell her what you need and we’ll get it to you.”

 

“Thanks, Akaashi-kun, Bokuto-san,” Kenma nods, turning around to leave. He hesitates for a moment, nibbling slightly on his lower lip as his gaze lingers on Bokuto’s oddly still form. “Please don’t tell Kuroo about this, for now.”

 

Akaashi nods, and he elbows Bokuto roughly in the side to pull him out of the stupor he’s in so that he’s nodding as well, scratching at the back of his neck as he smiles sheepishly after the mousy Queen. Kenma bows his head gratefully before turning and shuffling away.

 

After watching the door click back into place, Akaashi is about to return to the laptop sitting on the counter when strong arms circle around his torso and Bokuto’s chin is resting on his shoulder. A deep sigh vibrates against the back of Akaashi’s neck as Bokuto tightens his grip on Akaashi; incredibly well-toned arms flexing in a vice-like grip.

 

“Do you know something, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, observing his King as best as he can in his peripheral vision. In the many years he’s served Bokuto, Akaashi has gotten used to the very sudden and very extreme mood swings the King is prone to. Being treated like a literal rag doll is just another part of their relationship Akaashi doesn’t really mind – it’d only taken him awhile to mask the breathlessness when Bokuto sneaks up on him.

 

“Mmph!” Bokuto growls, muffling himself by burying his face in Akaashi’s shoulder and nuzzling against his addictive warmth. By now, Akaashi knows better than to interrupt Bokuto’s stalling, and the wild-haired King emerges, a little red from rubbing his face against the material of Akaashi’s sweater, a moment later. “Akaashi, I think… I think _Kuroo_ was the one who beat up Kenma.”

 

Akaashi freezes in Bokuto’s grasp, and Bokuto tugs on his sleeve like a neglected puppy when the shorter of the two fails to respond after a few seconds. The skin between his eyebrows now creased, the dark haired Queen wriggles in Bokuto’s grasp before turning slightly to face him. “What… Why do you say that, Bokuto-san?”

 

“Kuroo’s just been acting a little weird, kinda… off. Don’t know how to describe it,” Bokuto shrugs, eyes lighting up as he cards large fingers in between the silky strands of Akaashi’s inky black curls. “And the last time I went over, I think he and Kenma were having some sort of fight? I don’t know.”

 

“Are you sure?” Akaashi prods, lifting a hand to rest against Bokuto’s bicep in an attempt to stop him from getting distracted. “Kenma-san is Kuroo-san’s childhood friend… I don’t think Kuroo-san would ever hurt Kenma-san, at least not intentionally.”

 

“You haven’t seen Kuroo for a long time, Akaashi,” Bokuto chides softly, as though Akaashi were a child. Akaashi deadpans him, but Bokuto just manouvers the smaller so that his arm is draped over his shoulders, and guides him over to their couch. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Even if it is Kuroo, Kenma probably did something to deserve it. Make sure you keep an eye on those pills he’s taking from our supplies.”

 

Akaashi stops them in their tracks – which is a feat in itself, since Bokuto is very much an unstoppable force personified, but Akaashi has always been stronger than he looks; has always _had_ to be stronger. “Bokuto-san… do you condone this? That is was right for Kuroo-san to do that to Kenma-san, if it really was him?”

 

One of Bokuto’s eyebrows arches, and Akaashi expects it even before Bokuto misreads Akaashi’s trepidation as worry. “Don’t worry, Akaashi!” Bokuto replies cheerfully, hugging Akaashi close to his chest before sinking down onto the couch – and pulling Akaashi down with him. “I’d never hit you! Never! I love you too much!”

 

Akaashi sighs as he gives in, knees bent on either side of Bokuto’s thighs and hands grasping onto Bokuto’s shoulders to support his weight. Bokuto grins toothily at him before snaking his arms around Akaashi’s waist and pulling him in for a deep kiss.

 

Bokuto is strong, and steady, and honestly nothing less than perfect to Akaashi. It’s why Akaashi loves him, definitely – his beautiful, genuine, fragile King.

 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi breaks away when they run out of air, his tongue darting out to run over swollen, spit-slick lips. Bokuto’s attention is focused entirely on him, amber eyes hazy and large. “If… If you had to choose between Kuroo-san and me, who would you choose?”

 

Bokuto frowns immediately, and Akaashi might regret asking him. Rough hands cup his face gently, and Akaashi finds himself trapped in his King’s intense gaze. “Don’t worry, Akaashi, there won’t be a time I have to choose between you two. I don’t want to.”

 

And Bokuto moves Akaashi’s light form so that he’s snuggled into Bokuto’s side, the larger of the two nuzzling his nose in Akaashi’s thick locks. Akaashi’s hands are clenched at his sides, even as he tries to relax into the normally soothing embrace.

 

_I don’t want to kill you, either, Bokuto-san._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Pretty Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I was wondering right, why do you guys even like this fic? HAHAHA maybe it's just me, but I can never read my own writing unless it's like three years later and I totally forgot what I was writing about.
> 
> Thanks for the support :)) Enjoy!

Matsukawa tries his best not to jump when the vase smashes into the wall and shatters, glass shards flying into the air like twinkling blades. Oikawa is heaving when he slams the photographs onto the tabletop. They skid messily, spreading in different directions over the glass surface. Beside him, Hanamaki exhales slowly and as quietly as possible in an effort to relax himself.

 

Iwaizumi looks much too calm for the entire situation – legs propped up onto the tabletop as he sips at freshly brewed tea – but he does reach for the photographs; stacking them neatly before flipping through them, eyebrow raised in interest. Matsukawa had the same reaction, but it’s just because he’s never seen Kageyama so relaxed before.

 

“Kageyama is with _Sugawara Koushi_?!” Oikawa’s voice is shrill, like the ring of a fire bell, and unpleasant on the ears. Especially when he shouts like that. He turns, rounding on Hanamaki with a dark look plastered across his delicate features. “Didn’t you say Kageyama is _dead_ , Makki?”

 

Hanamaki flinches as the mocking tone, remaining tense even after Oikawa paces away. The brown-haired King stares resolutely out of the balcony, breathing so deeply they can see the rise and fall of his shoulders from all the way across the room. When he turns around, his features are schooled into perfect nonchalance, and Matsukawa reaches for Hanamaki’s hand in reassurance.

 

“Makki, go clean that up.” Oikawa orders with cold eyes, pointing at the mess of dying magnolias and glass and stale water in the corner. It might have something to do with the magnolias grasped in Sugawara’s hands in one of the photos. Hanamaki grits his teeth in annoyance, his hand tightening in Matsukawa’s grip – it’s an obvious disrespect of his station, Matsukawa can see that. Oikawa wants to humiliate Hanamaki for his mistakes.

 

“It’s okay, Hanamaki-san, I’ll clean it up,” Yahaba pipes up from where he’s seated opposite Iwaizumi. _Seated_ , unlike Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who’ve been delegated to standing by Oikawa’s white marble desk. Matsukawa knows this is Yahaba being genuine – everyone knows how much respect he holds for not just Oikawa and Iwaizumi, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa as well.

 

But Hanamaki is not in the right mind. He’s angry, and upset, and downright _jealous_ and it is _Yahaba_ who he’s unfairly directing all these negative emotions towards.

 

Matsukawa squeezes Hanamaki’s hand when the latter bites back a snarl, his eyes alight with fury. Yahaba isn’t expecting this reaction. He furrows his brows in confusion, Kyotani growling at Hanamaki from where he’s standing behind Yahaba.

 

“Oh no, that’s quite alright, Yahaba-chan. You’re just perfect the way you are, thank you for all your hard work.” Oikawa _smiles_. Yahaba flushes slightly from the praise and tries to interject with something about how Kyotani helped too, but Oikawa’s attention is already back on Hanamaki. “How long are you going to wait, Makki? The water is spreading.”

 

Matsukawa counts to three and then, when he’s sure Hanamaki isn’t going to throw away his pride to preserve his life without help, tugs Hanamaki towards the mess Oikawa made. Hanamaki is _seething_. His fists are curled tightly as he slowly lowers himself onto the floor, in a mostly futile attempt to keep his temper under control. Matsukawa sighs, dropping to his knees and quickly getting to work on picking up the jagged pieces of glass. It’s better to get this over and done with.

 

“Yahaba-chan, would you like a reward? Perhaps a new car – you seem to like those,” Oikawa continues, and Matsukawa can hear the victory in his tone even when facing away from him. The sleepy-eyed Joker nudges his Queen slightly in an attempt to soothe him, but Hanamaki just grunts lowly. “Or how about a little vacation? Just you and Kyoken-chan?”

 

“…Kyotani and I thought it’d be nice if we could have a few days off, just to go to Spain or something,” Yahaba’s reply betrays his confusion at the situation. “It’s… apparently a good time to go now.”

 

“Ahh, great! We’ll get down to arranging that for the end of this month, yes?” Oikawa’s mood is shifting again, and Matsukawa finds it quite fascinating how he knows it, and Hanamaki knows it, and Iwaizumi knows it, but none of them have even a slightest idea of how to deal with it. “Now, down to business! I assume the two of you can hear me from over there, Makki, Mattsun?”

 

Matsukawa sighs and nods at Oikawa when Hanamaki fails to do so – most likely throwing another tantrum about Oikawa and his dictatorship. A rather terrible one, these days.

 

“I want to destroy the Spades.”

 

Matsukawa is stunned into silence at the bold declaration. Beside him, Hanamaki sucks in a breath sharply, fingers pausing halfway through picking out the fallen magnolias.

 

They’re both impressed when Iwaizumi gathers his wits before anyone else.

 

“What are you suggesting, Oikawa? A full-fledged war?” Iwaizumi’s voice is disapproving, as he should be. He’s the only one who even stands a chance when arguing with Oikawa. “They have more filled-up seats than us, more firepower, definitely, since their ports are stacked to the brim with weaponry. We might be able to bring a few of them down, but we’d still lose in the end.”

 

“No, what do you think I am, stupid?” Oikawa retorts snarkily, bratty core emerging, and it’s not surprising that’s all he does because it’s Oikawa’s Iwa-chan and not anyone else. “We bring them down quietly, one by one. They’ll fall like dominos, and we’ll gain control of half of the Royal Flush.”

 

“Fuck, are we actually doing this again?” Hanamaki mutters, so softly only Matsukawa can hear him. The latter flinches when he accidentally cuts his finger on a glass shard, and he watches silently as blood flows out of the open wound and drips to taint the water red.

 

“You’re going to have to take both Sawamura and Sugawara down at the same time,” Iwaizumi’s eyebrow is raised, Matsukawa can tell by his tone. And he can also tell that Iwaizumi has become scared – scared of losing, scared of dying. Scared of _Oikawa_. He’s not stopping Oikawa, not this time. “Sawamura will go on a rampage if anything happens to Sugawara, and Sugawara’s been in the business far longer than any of us. They’ll have to go down together.”

 

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan,” And there’s Oikawa’s silky voice, the one that all of them grow wary of because Oikawa already has an ugly plan formulated in his pretty head. “I know just what to do.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	23. The Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's obvious how much I like Yaku and Lev's size difference HAHAHA Guys please calm down I said shit is going down but it will be going down in a calm and orderly fashion. (ahaha no)
> 
> Thanks for the support :)) It's greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

Lev mumbles contently as he snakes his arms around Yaku’s torso and pulls him even closer, the smaller of the two sitting cross-legged in Lev’s lap. Yaku squeaks at the sudden movement, and the tea in his cup sloshes slightly against its porcelain sides.

 

“Lev! Stop moving before I spill this all over us,” Yaku growls, slapping Lev on the arm with his free hand. Lev laughs in response, burying his nose in Yaku’s messy blonde locks affectionately.

 

Yaku always smacks him on the head, hits him on his arms and thighs and flicks him on the forehead, but it never hurts (well, not that much) because Yaku is both a tame house-cat and a ferocious lion, and he’s so protective of Lev it makes Lev’s heart race in his chest like a bunny going _hop hop hop_.

 

But Lev is even _more_ protective of Yaku than Yaku is of him, and it had taken the smaller a whole night of pacifying to get Lev to calm down; at least enough not to go on a rampage after the person who’d created the bright red gash on Yaku’s cheek and formed the dark, purple bruises circling Yaku’s neck like some sort of fucked up collar.

 

Lev still wants to find that person and kill them for what they did to Yaku, though. For now, he’ll just have to behave for Yaku’s sake – and refuse to let him out of his sight because _what if it happens again_? He could never hope to live with himself if he knew that _he_ was the cause of something as terrible as this happening to Yaku.

 

Lev never wants to let Yaku go – Yaku is, regardless of how much he denies it, extremely tiny as compared to all the other mafiaso henchmen like him, and Kai, and Kuroo. Even Kenma is taller than Yaku. Lev just worries so much, even though Yaku’s been working in the Royal Flush for much longer than him; having achieved the title of joker even earlier than when Kuroo had gotten the King seat.

 

Still doesn’t mean Yaku isn’t vulnerable.

 

“You never learn, do you? The last time you did this, I ended up burning you with my tea.” Yaku grumbles, almost incoherently, as he reaches – pulling taut against Lev’s grasp – to place the tea cup back onto the table top gently. Lev spreads his legs open wider to accommodate Yaku’s lithe body, tugging at him relentlessly until the smaller gives in with a small sigh and reclines into Lev’s chest.

 

“I love you lots, Yaku-san. Probably to the moon and back, and then somemore.” Lev grins down at his small lover, resting a large hand on Yaku’s inner thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. The other is tracing slow patterns into the exposed skin of Yaku’s knee – he’s wearing shorts today, which suits Lev just fine. Better than fine, actually.

 

Yaku pinks at the sweet talk and attempts to pull Lev’s hand away from his more private regions. Lev just thinks it’s cute how Yaku’s hand looks so delicate and pretty on top of Lev’s larger one – much like how the both of them are together.

 

A loud bang breaks the spell between them and Yaku is jumping up, off the couch, _away from Lev_ , and running towards the little pantry area behind the Clubs’ lounge. Lev pouts a little – just a little – and follows after his lover like a lost puppy.

 

What he sees shocks him to his core because he’d never expect it, not in a million years.

 

Yaku is crouching on the floor next to Kenma, who’s clutching his head in pain. Blood, bright red and thick, gushes out of the open wound and drips onto the floor in large splatters. Lev would have rushed to Kenma’s side as well, if not for the fact that both Kuroo and Kai are in the room – Kuroo leering at Kenma from above, Kai watching the proceedings with wary eyes.

 

“You fucking bitch!” Kuroo seeths, stepping forward towards Kenma. Yaku tenses and growls slightly in response; halting Kuroo in his steps. The King scoffs and points towards the shattered cup on the ground. “Your _wonderful_ Queen has just attempted to drug me with an unknown substance. I’m not about to let him go leniently if he’s trying to kill me.”

 

Yaku’s eyes widen at this, surprise colouring his features, and Lev thinks he might look like that as well. They direct their questioning gazes at Kenma, whose only visible eye narrows. “You’ve been acting unstable, lately, and I had to do something about it-”

 

“Guilty as charged!” Kuroo yells, and Yaku flinches away from Kenma, stunned, even though his hands are still hovering over Kenma’s head worriedly. “Wait, Kenma? This isn’t you, you wouldn’t-”

 

“They were just anti-psychotics,” Kenma sounds more determined than Lev has ever heard him, but it might just be because he’s fighting for his innocence in this situation – and by extension, the right to live. “I got them from the diamonds, you can contact Bokuto-san about it. I’m just worried about you, Tetsu, you need to get yourself back together and lead us again. At this rate, the Clubs are going to fall apart because we don’t have sound leadership, and-”

 

“Your Queen has just attempted a coup.” Kuroo’s voice is oddly cold. Lev has heard his many voices before; from the barely constrained ice of a diplomat in official Syndicate meetings to the fiery aggression of a protective mobster in the back rooms of their casinos – and even the full warmth of a human being in regards to his most precious childhood friend – but he’s never this detached. Never this… dead. “Lock him up in the guest bedroom. I’ll deal with this later.”

 

“Don’t do this, Kuroo,” Kenma hisses – from pain or anger Lev doesn’t know – when Kai moves to pull his arms behind his back, hauling him out of the room as gently as he can. Kenma is still the Queen for now, no matter what his crimes are. “You need help, you can’t do this-!”

 

The door slams heavily behind them, cutting off Kenma’s pleas halfway through. Once they’re gone, Kuroo grunts and reaches into the fridge for a bottle of whiskey, shuffling past Lev to sink into a couch bonelessly.

 

Lev doesn’t really understand what’s happening, or why, but he’s glad at the opportunities this provides. Taking Yaku’s hand in his and ignoring the slippery texture of Kenma’s blood on Yaku’s skin – and it’s lingering metallic scent – he smiles down at his small lover and squeezes the hand lying limply in his grasp. “That’s great, Yaku-san! You’re next in line to be Queen!”

 

He doesn’t understand the heartbroken look in Yaku’s eyes after, either.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. Second Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some people have been waiting for this chapter hehe also!! Warnings are up there ^ if you need a lil revisit, and I will specify nsfw chapters in the chapter notes.
> 
> Thanks for your support :) Enjoy!

Everything Oikawa has done until now, he’s done for Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

He remembers the hot summer days of his childhood, lounging in the shadow of impossibly tall trees next to Iwa-chan and the fluttering beetle in his net. It’s always the day Iwa-chan’s shoulders are stiff and the bruise on his cheek is large and so glaringly purple that seeps out of his unconscious and into his thoughts.

 

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we ruled the world?” Iwa-chan had said, fists clenched at his sides and eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Nobody could tell us what to do… Nobody could hurt us, or even touch us. We’d have everything we want!”

 

The child-Oikawa in his memories keeps quiet, and he doesn’t respond because he’s been raised to be the same unreadable socialite as his mother, and he knows that his best friend – the boy from the other side of the park, from the slums of the city – will not understand what he wants to say.

 

But he makes a silent promise to himself that day, an invisible oath to fulfill Iwa-chan’s wish no matter the cost.

 

And Oikawa destroys himself for his best friend.

 

He picks himself apart, puts himself back together again and hones the skills his mother passes down to him. He attends the parties dutifully, eats the sickly sweet cakes and manouvers the upper society until one day, he meets a man named Moniwa Kaname.

 

Oikawa remembers that his first impression of Moniwa had been underwhelming. He had a kind smile, ruffled black hair and was rather thin – all lean muscle and nothing much else. He watches the Hearts interact from his corner with the flute of champagne, remembers thinking that Moniwa must have been nothing but a figurehead for the hot-headed Ace and the quick-thinking Joker, a buffer until Futakuchi accumulates enough experience to lead sensibly.

 

It’s one of the few times Oikawa is wrong.

 

The miscalculation does not affect his plans, and soon he is the Queen of the Hearts – Iwa-chan and Oikawa’s pesky charity-case of a little brother Tobio-chan sitting comfortably in the folds of the Royal Flush. Futakuchi doesn’t like him, not at all, and Oikawa plays it off as jealousy to his King, even though he knows it’s because Futakuchi sees right through his perfect, plastic mask.

 

He collects his soldiers – by then it’s like second nature to him, telling them what they want and promising things that might maybe not really come true. Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Kindaichi, Kunimi, Yahaba, Kyoutani. They fall into line like little pawns in his ever expanding chess set.

  
And then it’s time.

 

Hanamaki takes care of Sasaya first, and it’s easy enough to blame him for the missing accounts when he’s the one managing them. Kamasaki is furious, but it just weakens the Old Power much more because he’s angry and rash and makes so very many mistakes. Oikawa doesn’t even need to lift a finger because Kamasaki is the one who breaks Moniwa in the end, and Oikawa kills him for it with a quick bullet to the head.

 

And then, before Moniwa can push Futakuchi and Aone up the ranks, Oikawa acts. He sends Iwa-chan after Aone, Kindaichi and Kunimi after Koganegawa and Yahaba and Kyotani after Futakuchi. He goes after Moniwa; Matsukawa and Hanamaki at his back.

 

Oikawa condemns Moniwa to a life of sexual servitude to every and any member of the Hearts. The King of Hearts, reduced to a mere sex slave for the men who would otherwise have been the lowest of his underlings – it’s poetic justice.

 

And then Kageyama shoots Moniwa right between the eyes.

 

In the far depths of his soul, child-Oikawa sighs in relief.

 

Two years later, Oikawa realises that being the King of one suit out of four is really not enough. Oikawa realises that his promise to Iwa-chan isn’t fulfilled yet, and his list of sins has to grow longer for the sake of his best friend – for the sake of the one person he loves most in the entire world.

 

Child-Oikawa is crying, shaking his head. _Don’t do this, not again_. Oikawa steels himself and pushes forward, the bag heavy in his hands. _I have to, for us. For Iwa-chan._

 

It’s what he’s prepared himself for, after all. To destroy, and then to rebuild.

 

Kuroo lifts a slim eyebrow when he enters, Iwa-chan closing the door behind them. He’s slouched in a plush sofa, nursing a bottle in his hand. It reeks of alcohol – there are broken bottles on the ground, bitter tang leaking into the carpets.

 

Oikawa’s smile is perfect as he settles himself on the opposite couch, and it widens a little more when Kuroo waves Yaku and the tall silver-haired boy away in favour of hearing what Oikawa has to say. Oikawa isn’t going to lie, he stares a little at the dark bruises circling Yaku’s neck and the blood dripping off the towel in his hands.

 

“Oikawa. Iwaizumi. What do you want?” Kuroo’s drawl is arrogant, as it usually is, but absoulately exhausted. His normally sharp, golden eyes are dull and listless. “As you can see, I’m not exactly having a wonderful day.”

 

“That’s an understatement.” Iwa-chan huffs from where he’s flanking Oikawa, but Oikawa just smiles. Kuroo is unhinged – he doesn’t know why, but it makes this much easier than it would be if he were on form.

 

Kuroo is smart – as much as Sugawara, but even more ruthless. Now, however, judgement clouded by alcohol and whatever else he’s on, Kuroo is simply a cruel individual with exactly the motivation and power Oikawa can manipulate.

 

The King of Clubs runs a hand through his wild hair and takes a swig from his already half-empty bottle, eyes darting from Oikawa’s black bag to Oikawa’s face. “I know that look, Oikawa. Just _who_ do you want to destroy now?”

 

_The world_ , Oikawa thinks.

 

“Oh, just someone you might have an interest in,” Oikawa shrugs, leaning back into a a rather fluffy cushion. This is what he’s good at. Manipulation is like second nature to him by now. It’s what he’s become, and it’s what he’ll do. “You know, I hear Kou-chan has never given a blowjob before.”

 

Kuroo’s eyebrows shoot up so high they might just disappear into his hairline. Mouth spreading into a cat-like smirk, he motions at Oikawa to continue. “Oh, I like where this is going already.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	25. Babydoll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I'm a literal infant at nsfw, please go easy on me :")
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy <3
> 
> Edit: I was advised to add this *Beware! Explicit content ahead!* sign here by a concerned reader :) Please do remember that this is a pretty hardcore fic! Warnings are up there ^ so make sure to check them out! (I'm starting to feel a little naggy oh dear)

It is anger – raw and hateful and bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin – that pushes Hanamaki to enter Yahaba’s room in the middle of the night.

 

He finds Yahaba standing, slightly hunched over the desk at the side of his bedroom in the Hearts’ Mansion as he shuffles around the loose sheets of paper scattered over the tabletop. Yahaba has always had quite a one-track mind while he’s working, and he’s so preoccupied that he doesn’t hear the lock click behind Hanamaki, or even the approaching footsteps after.

 

Hanamaki delights in the little squeak of surprise that escapes Yahaba’s rosebud lips when he winds his arms around his waist and pulls him tight against his chest. The smaller of the two immediately flushes red and goes rigid in Hanamaki’s grasp, caramel-coloured eyes darting – expressive and wide – to identify the intruder in his peripheral. “H-Hanamaki-san?”

 

Hanamaki doesn’t reply. Instead, he rests his chin on Yahaba’s head and slips an insistent hand under his shirt. When he realises what his superior’s intentions are, Yahaba starts struggling against Hanamaki’s grip; dainty fingers pulling Hanamaki’s hand away from his skin. “Hanamaki-san, what are you doing? Please stop!”

 

When Hanamaki doesn’t oblige, Yahaba snaps his head backwards in a move that could have broken Hanamaki’s nose, had he not dodged in the nick of time. It does, however, prove effective in breaking Yahaba free of Hanamaki’s unwelcome touches. The smaller of the two backs himself against the wall warily. His light hair is slightly dishevelled from the scuffle, and Hanamaki wants to mess it up even more.

 

The Queen of Hearts licks his lips in anticipation.

 

Yahaba darts forward suddenly, taking advantage of Hanamaki’s lapse in focus to attempt an escape from the room altogether.

 

But Hanamaki is taller and stronger and quick on his feet from working on the field, and he manages to catch Yahaba by the waist. It’s easy to throw him onto the bed, so roughly he bounces up and down on the soft fabric like a rag doll – Kyotani has always been the brawn in their little duet, and although Yahaba can hold his own, he’s no match for Hanamaki without his volatile little guard dog.

 

Yahaba scrambles away from Hanamaki as fast as he can, but Hanamaki gets a good grip on his ankle before he can fall off the other side of the bed. Tugging hard, Hanamaki pulls a thrashing Yahaba towards him and catches his wrists when he lashes out in desperate attempts at defending himself.

 

With his other hand, Hanamaki pulls his tie free as he moves to straddle Yahaba’s struggling hips; locking them down onto the bed using his weight and immobilizing the smaller blonde. Looping the tie around Yahaba’s wrists and the headboard, he secures the fabric in a tight double knot.

 

“H-Hanamaki-san, please-!”

 

Hanamaki feels satisfaction bloom in his chest when his palm connects with Yahaba’s cheek, the force of the slap coercing a wince out from between Yahaba’s too-perfect white teeth. Moving so that his limbs are caging Yahaba in, one leg between Yahaba’s thighs and the other on the outside of his left hip, he grips Yahaba’s jaw between his fingers and forces Yahaba to look at him. “You can scream for help as much as you like, Shigeru, but there’s no one here other than the two of us. Your precious Kyotani is far, far away.”

 

Yahaba flinches at the way Hanamaki uses his first name, and the latter allows a victorious smirk to lift the corners of his lips as he watches the defeat settle in Yahaba’s pretty, doe-like eyes. It’s so hot, Hanamaki feels himself strain against his pants.

 

“Why a-are you doing this, Hanamaki-san? I-I don’t understand, please just-” Yahaba’s cries are swallowed into silence when Hanamaki mashes their mouths together in a violent, open-mouthed kiss, large hands travelling down Yahaba’s lean torso to unbutton his pants and pull at them until they hang just above his knees like a makeshift bind.

 

It feels utterly _amazing_ to finally be taking control of this pretty little piece of meat, to show him where he really belongs.

 

Hanamaki has been dreaming of this for so long – of fucking Yahaba over so much, so hard, he’ll run away with his tail between his legs and never challenge Hanamaki’s rightful position ever again. Watching him now, squirming helplessly below him – all luscious eyelashes and milky smooth skin – helps to push Hanamaki to full hardness.

 

When Hanamaki reaches to fondle Yahaba’s limp cock, pinching at the sensitive skin a little meanly, Yahaba bucks away from his touch with a loud whimper. “No, Hanamaki-san. Please, please stop! Don’t do this!”

 

“This is where you belong, Shigeru. Below me.” Unbuckling his pants, Hanamaki allows a smirk to overcome his features when his leaking dick springs free of its confines and Yahaba’s eyes widen further at the sight. “I’m going to _make_ you remember it for the rest of your life.”

 

“No, please, no,” Yahaba squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head vehemently when Hanamaki aligns himself – lacking both preparation and lube – with Yahaba’s puckered hole. Leaning forward, Hanamaki squeezes Yahaba’s baby-soft cheeks in one hand and pumps himself languidly with the other. “Look at me, Shigeru.”

 

Yahaba screams when Hanamaki enters him.

 

To Yahaba, it must feel like being ripped apart, muscle by muscle, from the inside. But to Hanamaki, Yahaba’s tight, pulsating heat feels like ecstacy – watching fat tears tumble down Yahaba’s flushed cheeks, caramel, doll-like eyes rolling behind fluttering lashes and thick, crimson blood dripping out from between Yahaba’s ass cheeks with every merciless thrust.

 

“Kyo-Kyotani, he- p-please, not i-inside-” Yahaba blubbers almost unintelligently, shaking his head as Hanamaki starts speeding up. His slim legs are wrapped around Hanamaki’s waist unconsciously, as a way to keep him from slipping and banging right into the headboard. “D-Don’t, ple-please-”

 

Hanamaki hasn’t found Yahaba’s sweet spot; he isn’t planning to. Yahaba’s soft dick isn’t something he particularly cares about, either. All Hanamaki is looking for is his own satisfaction – his own _revenge_.

 

“Sorry, darling, but he’s not here,” Hanamaki’s concerned gaze is patronizing. Yahaba squeezes his eyes shut, feeling sick to his stomach, even as the tears continue to dampen his red cheeks. Hanamaki’s expression turns smug. “I am.”

 

And with a few short jerks of his hips, still fully sheathed inside Yahaba, Hanamaki cums long and hard and more than he’s ever cum before.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Drawing Blood from Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat peaceful chapter this time round :) Kind of HAHA
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy <3

The digital clock on the nightstand reads two fifty-five in the morning – Daichi’s arm shoots out to silence the alarm on its first ring, regardless of how tempting it is to ignore it. The last thing he wants to do is wake Suga, after all. The silver-haired queen hardly gets a good night’s sleep, since he’s plagued with terrible nightmares that leave him drenched in cold sweat and shaking.

 

Suga never lets his exhaustion show to anyone else, though. His inner strength is another thing Daichi really admires about him.

 

Groaning softly, Daichi rubs the sleep out of his eyes as best as he can and reluctantly pulls his hand away from where Suga is grabbing on to it in his sleep; prying off his lover’s delicate fingers gently.

 

Still asleep, Suga murmurs sleepily and shifts to curl himself deeper in their thick comforter – It’s a good dream tonight. Daichi stifles a chuckle at the rather childish behaviour and caresses Suga’s jaw fondly, leaning down to press a soft kiss onto his forehead before he finally slips out of bed.

 

Sometimes, Daichi really curses the odd hours his job warrants. Having to leave Suga in the middle of the night like he’s sneaking off or doing something equally as dubious (not that their jobs don’t call for something as illegitimate as that) isn’t something he looks forward to. It’s not often, but he does yearn for a simple, white picket-fence life with Suga, much like the one his parents had before him.

 

Being the King and Queen of a suit in the Royal Flush may seem alluring, taking into consideration all the high-society events that they’re invited to by blue bloods who dabble a little _too_ much in the underbelly of the city. But while there may be glitz and glamour and enough money to drown in, there is also enough bloodshed and betrayal to last a thousand life times.

 

People like romanticizing the underground life – as if everything is just cool montages of shiny, metallic weapons, close-up shots of towering stacks of cold, hard cash and slow-motion fighting scenes. As if everything will go well and swell just because someone decides to play the hero, goes in all guns ablazing.

 

But the truth can’t be further away.

 

It’s gritty and grimy and the bloodstains almost never wash off. Stiff, cold bodies dumped into rivers or buried under piles of decaying rubbish become the norm. Every day is a struggle of dealing with the other crime lords, balancing ( _not enough_ ) time between the suit, the syndicate and the meddlesome rich, losing your friends, your loved ones, in the crossfire of a war between petty, violent alcoholics and even cleaning the vomit off cold bathroom tiles after remembering said failures.

 

There are no extravagant showdowns, no untouchable heroes. There are politics, assasinations, elaborate schemes that take years to come to fruition. It’s dry and taxing and it strips humanity down until there is nothing left but it’s animalistic core.

 

There is nothing _glamorous_ about it.

 

It’s nothing like the perfect, glossy exteriors everyone is holding up to cover the chaos behind, and in a way, it’s like Daichi and Suga’s relationship.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Daichi and Suga are not all rainbows and sunshine. They’re not all smiles and understanding gazes and everything pure like the newlywed couples on Saturday morning family-friendly sitcoms.

 

They’re human too, and it’s because of it that they’re imperfect.

 

Daichi treats Suga like glass because Suga is a perfectionist who shatters too easily under pressure, who tends to carry all the responsibility, all the blame, on his narrow shoulders. And like broken glass, Suga lashes out at anybody who tries to help him through his deprecating self-blame.

 

But even broken glass, sharp as it may be, can’t draw blood from stone – and it is Daichi who plays the matching rock to Suga’s crystal. Daichi is stubborn as a mule, but equally as steady, which makes him such a good anchor, such a good protector.

 

Daichi doesn’t allow Suga to fight anymore. He has many reasons for it, like keeping his Queen out of harm’s way because Suga’s _sacrifices are not needed anymore, goddamnit, just stay safe already, please, because I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you_. They’ve climbed – crawled, struggled – their way to the top, but how much would it truly matter if Daichi can’t even keep the one person who means the most to him safe?

 

Sure, Daichi’s decision may have torn them apart for a while, may even have strained their relationship for the long run, since they still argue about it from time to time – the nostalgia and longing for times not long ago, when he could gun down rival gangs with Suga guarding his back, make goosebumps pop below his skin and a shiver run through his weary bones – but to Daichi, it’s worth it to keep Suga out of harm’s way.

 

They fight. They argue. They hate each other as much as they love. But it’s these imperfections that make them so good for each other, and it’s what Daichi has come to appreciate after so many years together.

 

Appreciation does not, in anyway, translate to Daichi being any less worried about his other half, however, and being so far away from Suga still takes a heavy toll on Daichi’s mental health.

 

“You alright, boss?” Nishinoya’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, spiked hair tickling Daichi’s cheek when the Joker leans in to peer at his King’s face. They’re seated at the back of a black SUV, Ennoshita scrolling through his tablet in shotgun and Asahi twiddling with some buttons at the wheel.

 

“Just thinking.” Daichi shrugs, combing a hand through his short, cropped hair. The streets are close to deserted this early in the morning, and their ride is smooth. He turns his attention to Ennoshita. “Do you have all the information ready for our deal with the Chinese Triad?”

 

Unlike the Japanese Syndicate; ruled over by four Kings, the Chinese Underground is put in place by three Lords; the Three-Headed Dragon, as they like to call themselves. The close proximity between the two countries is reason enough for them to look into fostering a good trade system.

 

“Yes, everything is in order. I’ll send you the specifics right now,” Ennoshita replies, not a hair out of place, as usual. Suga was right, as he is most of the time – Ennoshita _is_ a wonderful candidate for the next King.

 

As Daichi scrolls through the document – filled with Ennoshita’s dilligent note-taking – he ignores Nishinoya’s perceptive side-eye and at the same time, attempts to banish any thoughts that stray back to his lover.

 

Suga is back at the Mansion – Daichi shouldn’t need to be worried. It’s the safest place he could ever be, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was such a darling to write. I don't know why, but I just enjoyed it a lot? I love writing in general too though, even though the writers' block is a bitch :")
> 
> Also, someone told me to protect Yaku...?
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy <3

Riding has always been Yaku’s escape.

 

It’s his guilty pleasure – feeling the wind whip around his hair, the chill nipping at his cheekbones, his eyes watering from the dry air. Hood up and mask on, he’s just another faceless driver on poorly lit streets. He’s not a Joker – one of only four in the entire city, the entire _world_ – of the Royal Flush. He’s not Morisuke Yaku. He’s nobody.

 

The way he drives when no one is looking – _fast_ , past red lights and sharp corners, no helmet, no safety net – is not something he wants emulated; especially not by Lev, who’ll probably just get into an accident that Yaku will have to treat him for. It’s a good thing his lover is such a heavy sleeper.

 

But this time, no matter how fast he accelerates, Yaku can’t seem to shake the feeling of dread creeping up on his bones in a different way from the early morning frost. It weighs him down in both body and soul, keeps him from reaching the high he normally has no problems accomplishing.

 

Kuroo is losing his mind. He’s fighting imaginary battles with the ghosts of his past, reanimated by the bottles of liquid anger emptied into his soul. He’s sent Kai away to China under the guise of work, but it’s obvious how scared Kuroo’s become of the second-in-command he once trusted with his life. Kenma, the only one of them who even stands a chance of getting through to Kuroo in the state he’s in, has essentially been placed in solitary confinement for an indefinite amount of time.

 

His suit, his _family_ , is falling apart. And the worst thing is, Yaku doesn’t know what he can do to help.

 

With the smooth rev of a well-tuned engine, a rather recognizable yellow ducati pulls up beside him. The rider flicks up the shade of his helmet to wink an almond eye and stick out his tongue playfully, silver stud shining under the dim street lighting. _Terushima_.

 

Yaku nods in acknowledgment, a little curious because Terushima doesn’t hang around the Clubs as much as, maybe, the Spades. They swerve away from each other to avoid a rather slowly moving sedan, and Terushima tips his head to the side when they fall back beside each other. _Follow me_.

 

The Wild Card grins, as free as his namesake, and pushes the shade of his helmet back down. Revving his engine twice, he accelerates; skidding around the corner expertly.

 

Not wanting to fall behind, Yaku tugs his hood tighter into the clips holding it in place and speeds right after the yellow bike.

 

They dance around each other easily, as though it were choreographed instead of just the instinct of two riders trying to shake off their worldly troubles in the small hours of the night. This exhilaration is what Yaku is looking for; the breathlessness of a narrowly executed turn at high speed, how his heart is pounding so hard in his chest he feels like he might just explode, the heady euphoria that brings him past cloud nine.

 

This is _amazing_.

 

When Yaku’s fingers – wrapped as they may be, from taking out his anger on a few too many walls – start to feel like they may drop off from the cold, Terushima flashes his headlights twice and slows to a stop inside a public park. It’s open, even though it’s deserted so early in the morning, and Yaku appreciates the thought, even if he’s still very aware of the gun shoved hastily into the back of his pants.

 

“You’re good,” Terushima purrs, arms crossed as he leans lightly against his yellow motorcycle. Yaku swings a leg over his own bike and fiddles with his hood, unlatching the little hair clips keeping it in place before letting it slip back over his head. Terushima’s eyes narrow, glinting dangerously, when he spots the dark bruises ringing Yaku’s throat in the distinctive shape of _fingers_. “Got into a brawl? Small thing like you?”

 

“I’m not small!” Yaku replies instinctively, bristling even as he pulls down his mask to rest around his neck. His throat is still sore. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

 

“Well, technically it _is_ , unless Kuroo already knows about it,” Terushima continues, striding up to Yaku with an absurd amount of confidence. Yaku can’t help but flinch involuntarily at his King’s name, and Terushima smirks victoriously. “Well, well, well. I see, now.”

 

“You don’t _see_ anything,” Yaku spits, more angry at himself than anything. It doesn’t help that Terushima is as perceptive as he is. Maybe it was a bad idea to have followed him, after all.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Terushima waves his hand dismissively, but his oddly genuine gaze is focused on Yaku. “We can help you, if you help us.”

 

“We?” One of Yaku’s eyebrows lifts because Terushima is talking like there’s someone other than the two of them in that deserted park. “There’s no one-”

 

Yaku cuts off because it suddenly feels like he might actually die from a mixture of choking on his own spit and forgetting how to breathe. In retrospect, he realises that he could’ve handled the situation more elegantly, but really, there’s no manual for how to act when faced with a literal ghost.

 

“Long time no see, Mori-san,” Futakuchi’s smirk is as aggravating as it was two years ago. As he steps into the light, Yaku’s eyes are immediately drawn to the large, puckered scar travelling from the side of Futakuchi’s neck, down past his collarbone and disappearing into the top of his shirt. “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

 

“Fucking- _Futakuchi_?”

 

Yaku actually steps back from both Futakuchi and Terushima – something he will never admit in the near or far future – and reaches for his gun. But Terushima is faster, and his revolver is shiny under the streetlight.

 

“Now, now, Mori-san, don’t be hasty now. Aka-chan vouched for you, after all.” Futakuchi’s grin widens, and Yaku falters at the namedrop. The tall brunette eyes the deep cut on Yaku’s cheek. “Why don’t we have a little talk?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	28. Warm Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content? Maybe? I really don't know. I think I may be too desensitized. Also, what's this business about beta readers? Should I get one?
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy <3

Suga likes sleeping in warm places – under toasty rays of sunlight, below heated covers, next to warm bodies.

 

Daichi normally runs at a slightly higher temperature than the average joe, which suits Suga just fine because it makes the space under the covers that much more cozy. Of course, that also means that Daichi, who doesn’t like the heat all that much, will normally sleep in his nice, fluffy cotton robes or (preferably) just his equally as comfortable boxers.

 

Which is why Suga finds it weird that the material fisted in his hands is not soft and cottony in any way.

 

Suga squeezes his eyes shut, as tight as he can, in the futile attempt to keep sleep trapped behind his closed lids. He’d had such a good night’s sleep, it’s almost painful to wake up because he _knows_ the following night won’t be as pleasant. Groaning softly at the mere thought of it, Suga snuggles closer to Daichi’s engulfing warmth.

 

Absently, he notes that Daichi smells different than normal. A new type of soap, maybe.

 

The arms around Suga tighten slightly, pulling him in closer. They’re a little leaner than Suga remembers. Odd. Maybe Daichi just hasn’t had the time to visit the gym as much, lately, what with all the work that’s coming in from China and the rising tensions between the suits. Generally, everyone’s been busier, as well, and he should start instructing the cooks to add extra vitamins to all their meals since health should _not_ be neglected in anyway.

 

“Dai..?” Turning in the steady embrace, Suga rubs at his closed eyes when he yawns, blindly reaching out to where he assumes their little digital clock is. He needs to check the time – didn’t Daichi say he had a meeting in the early morning? It can’t still be this early, for him to be in bed, can it?

 

Before Suga manages to pry his eyes open, Daichi shuffles slightly in bed, so that Suga’s back is resting against his chest, and his arms circle around to wander further down Suga’s abdomen than is appropriate in the morning – so much so that a hand slips past the loose waistband of Suga’s pajama bottoms and curls around his length.

 

Suga’s eyes shoot open instantly, all traces of sleep banished from his mind.

 

It all makes sense now – the different smell, the leaner arms. Even the long, _longer_ legs entangled with his own. The chin resting against his ear is smooth, free from the stubble Daichi is plagued with when he wakes up.

 

_The man in his bed isn’t Daichi_.

 

Immediately, realisation setting in like a heavy weight in his stomach, Suga starts thrashing in the stranger’s grasp; hands flying down to clamp around the stranger’s wrists in a bid to stop his fingers from- _squeezing, finger pressed into his tip_.

 

“Stop! Who are you? You’re not Daichi!” Desperation seeps into Suga’s tone, because this is his house. This is his _bedroom_ – who in the world could have gotten in without tripping any alarms?

 

The answering chuckle is dark, clouded with lust and terribly familiar. With his free hand, the stranger pinches the firm muscle at his abdomen, almost teasingly. Suga tries not to think about the _other_ hand. “Ahh Suga-chan, you’re right about that. I’m definitely _not_ Sawamura.”

 

If his heart had been in his throat before, it’s now plummeting into his stomach. _Shit_.

 

“ _Kuroo_??” Suga hisses, twisting in the firm hold so much the intrusive hands fall back to anchor his hips down. At least he isn’t being groped anymore. “What the _fu_ -”

 

“Woah there, language, darling.” Kuroo interrupts, chiding softly, patronisingly. Suga flinches when Kuroo’s hot breath ghosts over the shell of his ear. “Didn’t hear you complaining a few moments ago.”

 

“That was because I thought you were Daichi!” Suga splutters, mind whirring. This is bad. How did Kuroo even get in? If Daichi hears about this, a war between two suits will be the least of Suga’s problems. With a resolute little huff, the silver-haired Queen pulls his arm forward and then slams it backwards, jamming his elbow right into the space below Kuroo’s ribs.

 

Succumbing to a coughing fit, Kuroo immediately releases Suga; the latter rolling off the bed and falling into a defensive crouch on the floor in one smooth motion.

 

In the many years since he’s been adopted into the Spades, Suga has been taught to stifle any ‘needless’ indulgences – emotions and self worth included – in favour of taking the big picture into account. He’s long since become apt in forgoing his own feelings for the sake of advancing their suit; for the sake of Daichi. His King.

 

Which is why Suga reaches the inevitable conclusion on the matter in the span of a few seconds. It’s the obvious choice – Suga will _not_ endanger his suit, not even at the cost of his own sanity. It’s not worth it to expose Kuroo for what he did to Suga, not while keeping the disastrous consequences doing so would result in in mind.

 

As Kuroo falls back on his haunches, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, two loud raps on the door rip the tense silence in half.

 

“Suga-san! You’re going to be late for breakfast!”

 

Suga closes his eyes for a minute. He’s never been this glad to hear Hinata’s voice. “Alright, Hinata. I’ll be right out. Kuroo and I just have some things we need to settle.”

 

“Kuroo? As in Kuroo-san? Oh my god, this is so cool!” The youthful voice outside crows excitedly. A loud slap; and then a deeper voice is shouting. “Dumbass Hinata!”

 

Turning back, Suga registers that Kuroo is staring at him a little wildly, eyes the largest Suga’s ever seen them. The panther-like King has always been guarded, even with obvious goading pulling at his lips. The golden pools of his eyes have always been nothing more than a mirror; reflecting souls yet not allowing anyone to set sights on his own.

 

Kuroo has never been this open. There’s something _off_ about him.

 

Swallowing deeply, Suga marches forward and jabs a finger in Kuroo’s face, lowering his voice to a steely growl. “ _Don’t_. _Say_. _Anything_. I don’t know how you got in, but _never_ do it again. If not, I might actually let Daichi kill you.”

 

Realization flickers in Kuroo’s eyes, and then, as if it had never been there at all, his golden gaze turns unreadable. A mirror, indeed.

 

Frustrated with his silence, Suga retreats into his bathroom to freshen up; all the while trying to quash the growing feelings of uneasiness that are arising in the pit of his stomach. He needs a shower to wash off Kuroo’s filth, but simply thinking about what happened invites a new wave of nausea that immediately kills his appetite.

 

It’s all for the suit, Suga reminds himself.

 

But why is it that it's so hard to be selfless?

 

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Speed-dial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit content ahead! Or at least I think so. It's more mentioned than anything. Shit is finally gonna start going down next chapter (did you think it was already happening?) hehe
> 
> Thanks for the support!! Enjoy <3

Yahaba stares at his fingers and wonders what, exactly, he’d done wrong.

 

Hanamaki is fast asleep on the bed, long limbs sprawled out over Yahaba’s bedspread. The blanket, covered in a mixture of blood and cum, is kicked to the side.

 

Yahaba lies naked on the hardwood floor, curled on his side with his hands cradled against his chest; counting shaking breaths and watching his wispy, brown-blonde hair ruffle with the wavering exhales. His wrists are still bound together and, even though Yahaba knows that he could probably get the knot untied with his teeth if he tried hard enough, he hasn’t moved in what seems like forever.

 

Everything _hurts_.

 

His entire body is aching, from the dark bruises left by Hanamaki’s teeth to how it feels like he may have been split apart, not just split open. Yahaba remembers passing out during the second round; Hanamaki hadn’t even bothered preparing him in the least. The wetness between his thighs causes tears to gather behind his already bloodshot eyes.

 

Yahaba had been dumped, unceremoniously, onto the floor after Hanamaki was done. He’d cried. _Sobbed_ , as quietly as possible, into his clenched fists because he hadn’t wanted Hanamaki to wake up and… and start _hurting_ him all over again. Trying to keep the cries to himself just aches more when he thinks of Kyotani.

 

Oh, Kentarou. What would he say? What would he do? Would he hate Yahaba for being weak? For… allowing Hanamaki to use him so thoroughly? Surely, he will. He’ll look at Yahaba, cowering on the floor after being violated, and narrow those dark eyes. He’ll sneer at Yahaba for getting taken advantage of, for not even being able to protect himself. Worthless, useless-

 

_No_.

 

Yahaba will _not_ think of Kentarou that way. He won’t sully their relationship, won’t defile Kentarou’s frank sincerity, by speculating negativity this way. He can’t afford to.

 

Yahaba has to be _strong_.

 

Biting back a wince when he shifts in place, Yahaba tilts his head downwards and pulls at his restraints with his teeth. The silken material of Hanamaki’s tie gives way after a few sure tugs, regardless of how tightly they’d been knotted before – the Queen probably hadn’t thought this through.

 

Trying to sit himself up makes his vision go black from the sheer agony that rips his nerves to shreds, but Yahaba manages to stifle the wail that bubbles on his lips. Hanamaki shifts slightly on the bed, frowning in his sleep, and Yahaba’s heart stutters in his chest. He can do this. He has to.

 

Yahaba slips his drawer open, reaching over the edge to fumble around for his phone. His fingers curl around the sleek device quickly, and Yahaba pulls it out and clutches it to his chest. Hanamaki tosses in bed when he closes the drawer a little too loudly, and Yahaba freezes.

 

When the Queen seems to have settled, Yahaba falls onto his hands and starts crawling to the door; although it’s more like dragging his body forward with any remaining upper body strength. Since Hanamaki moved him around like a doll before, Yahaba hadn’t fully realised the toll the assaults had taken on his body. Standing is out of the question, much less actually walking.

 

When he reaches up to turn the knob, it refuses to budge. The door is locked, even from the inside, and Yahaba belatedly realises that Hanamaki, as the Queen, possesses the master key for all the rooms in the Hearts’ Mansion.

 

_Nonononono_ \- Already panting from exertion, Yahaba blinks back tears of frustration and turns to the bathroom instead. He’ll lock himself inside. At least then, there would be _something_ between him and the other man. That would work. It has to.

 

Yahaba tries to ignore the trail of bodily fluids he leaves on the floor.

 

The ceramic tiles of the bathroom are cold to the touch, a welcome soothe to his heavily bruising limbs. The temperature change is so overwhelming that Yahaba actually loses his balance while locking the door; slamming it shut so loudly his own heart skips a beat. _Oh, no_. Hanamaki is definitely awake now.

 

Yahaba grabs the sink and pulls, fitting himself into the small slot between the bathtub and the toilet; shaking hands calling the first number on his speed dial even as Hanamaki’s enraged growl reaches his ears. Please pick up. _Please, please, please_ -

 

“Shigeru?”

 

Kentarou’s voice is even rougher than usual from sleep, but his name is spoken warmly. Yahaba’s eyes fill with tears immediately, the longing growing so much it feels like it’s eating his heart out.

 

“K-Kentarou, I-” Yahaba’s voice is shaky and hoarse from screaming. It doesn’t even sound like himself, and he accidentally bites his tongue when Hanamaki starts pounding on the door. “Yahaba, I know you’re in there! Come the fuck out!”

 

“Shigeru?! What the fuck, are you okay? What’s happening? Who the fuck is that?” Kyotani’s voice is alert, and Yahaba is so scared, he just wants Kyotani next to him, just wants to be _anywhere but here_.

 

“I-I’m sorry, Kentarou, I d-don’t have time. Please, Hanamaki-san h-he-” Yahaba cuts himself off again when the pounding intensifies – Hanamaki is trying to break down the door. Yahaba lowers his volume to a whisper. “He l-locked the door, I can’t g-get out. I-It won’t hold him for long.”

 

“Fuck,” Kyotani swears, clothes rustling in the background. “I’m coming, Shigeru. Hang in there, alright? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

 

Yahaba wants to reply him, wants to thank him, wants to say anything at all, but the door hinge breaks and he _panics_ , ending the call before dumping his phone into the bin below the sink. He flushes the toilet when the door bursts open, a fuming Hanamaki storming into the bathroom, and can’t help but flinch when Hanamaki waves his gun at him. “I was s-sick.”

 

“Don’t you ever fucking disappear like that again, you hear me?” Hanamaki snarls, grabbing a fistful of Yahaba’s hair and slamming his head back against the tiled wall. Pain blossoms immediately, spreading like wildfire until Yahaba’s vision becomes blurry.

 

“Tch.” Hanamaki’s irritation shows, but Yahaba can’t even get a reply out because he’s disorientated and _terrified_ and how can he even utter a word, let alone string together a sentence?

 

All of a sudden, Hanamaki is pushing him up against the wall and spreading his legs apart, and there’s something cold pressed against Yahaba’s battered entrance. It’s hard and big and Yahaba screams when it enters him because _Hanamaki is fucking him with his gun_.

 

“Did you hear me, slut?” Hanamaki’s voice is steely and full of fury. Yahaba’s head bobs up and down frantically, a bit of drool dribbling out the corner of his open mouth.

 

_Please hurry._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	30. Right Where I Want You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrible chapter name strikes again!!! And also we actually made it to chapter 30 wowowow accomplishment unlocked :")
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

Kageyama hangs back, leaning slightly against the wall, as Hinata skids to a stop in the middle of the foyer and opens the front door.

 

Sawamura-san’s group has only just returned from their early morning meeting with overseas clients, which is why they’d been missing at the breakfast table. Kageyama still feels a little awkward while interacting with them – especially Sawamura-san and Ennoshita. The latter is almost like Sawamura-san’s younger brother; they’re certainly more alike than Kageyama and Oikawa are, even if they’re not blood related. There’s just something _cold_ about him, and how his eyes remain dull even with his perpetual lazy-smiles.

 

With a bright smile tugging at his lips, Suga comes to stand beside Kageyama as Nishinoya rushes in to greet Hinata enthusiastically; a sheepish-looking Asahi following behind him. The both of them jump high into the air for a high-five, and Kageyama envies how easy being social is for the orange-haired boy.

 

“Welcome back!” Suga greets the rather exhausted looking group, resting a warm hand on Kageyama’s shoulder comfortingly. He immediately relaxes into the touch, surprising himself.

 

Sawamura-san approaches them – or rather, Suga – immediately after passing his small suitcase to Ennoshita, looking rejuvenated just by laying eyes on his lover. A warm smile breaks his stoic expression as he leans in for a kiss.

 

In the short few days Kageyama has been with the Spades, he’s come to treat the affectionate gestures between the King and the Queen as something natural; as if the world wouldn’t be right without it. The way they display their affections for each other is infinitely different from Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s tough love – the only kind of love Kageyama had been frequently exposed to for the majority of his life.

 

So Kageyama doesn’t understand why the hand Suga’s left on his shoulder tenses as Sawamura-san pecks Suga’s lips chastely. The look they share is fond, and Suga’s gaze is soft; juxtaposition in itself to his tight, clearly uncomfortable grip on Kageyama’s shoulder.

 

The doorbell rings. It’s a pleasant bell tone, and one of Sawamura-san’s eyebrows is cocked when he turns around, mouth already flatlining into it’s normally stern expression. He gestures at Ennoshita to check the peephole. They aren’t expecting anyone, not today.

 

So who could it be?

 

The 3 of Spades is frowning slightly when he twists his head back to meet Sawamura-san’s questioning gaze. “It’s… Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san.”

 

Kageyama prompty forgets how to breathe – at least until Suga’s steel-like grip, now for an entirely different reason than before, brings him back to reality. It’s then that his heart begins to pound; so fast and so hard it’s as if he’d been sprinting for the past half hour. He looks at Suga when the Queen calls his name softly and is met with a hard, determined look. Something that looks oddly out of place on Suga’s soft features, yet somehow at home, an expression he can imagine Suga making.

 

There’s no escaping things now.

 

Oikawa enters grandly, or as grandly as he can manage walking through a door into enemy territory without his normally impressive pack of soldiers. Iwaizumi isn’t carrying his typical machine gun this time round, just a black revolver stuffed into his pocket. He follows after his King, looking a little more aggrieved than usual once his gaze lands on Kageyama’s frozen form.

 

“Why hello there, Sawamura-san, Refreshing-kun!” Oikawa greets, faux-cheerily. Then his eyes meet Kageyama’s icy blue gaze and he cocks his head to the side, expression darkening. “Tobio-chan.”

 

Nishinoya and Hinata, both of whom had been bristling at the King of Hearts since his entrance, startle out of their reverie. Nishinoya bounces up to Oikawa rather fearlessly, ignoring Asahi’s small sounds of disapproval. “You know Kageyama, Oikawa-san?”

 

“Of course.” Oikawa’s expression is haughty, gaze glued to Kageyama’s. “He’s my little brother, after all.”

 

The room seems to suck in a breath at the same time, Sawamura-san looking from Oikawa to Kageyama with an unreadable steel in his eyes. Suga’s eyebrows are furrowed, and his hand slips down to entangle his fingers with Kageyama’s instead.

 

Kageyama doesn’t let the silence settle. “Oikawa-san, please leave.”

 

“Fat chance, Tobio.” Oikawa snaps, his mood taking such a drastic change that Asahi flinches. The gun is pointed at Kageyama before he can even blink, and Hinata takes a step back. Oikawa turns his gaze to Sawamura-san and Suga. “Tobio over here has been working as a spy for me. Some _friendly_ inter-suit competition, and all that. You can check for the surveillance devices he planted around your mansion for proof, if needed. Of course, now that he’s betrayed the entire Royal Flush by selling information to Shiratorizawa, I will be terminating him. I trust that’s of no consequence to you?”

 

Kageyama isn’t going to lie – the fact that Oikawa, his own blood-related brother, is spinning such vicious lies about him in order to get him killed _hurts_. Very badly.

 

“I think you should leave, Oikawa-san,” Suga speaks up before Sawamura-san can. His molten-gold gaze is powerful. Commanding. “Kageyama has told me about his family situation, and I’ve had him watched since he joined us. So please refrain from pointing your weapon at a member of the Spades.”

 

Oikawa looks furious, but he does as Suga says and lowers his gun because he and Iwaizumi are deep in enemy territory and very alone. His voice is spiteful. “Did you know, Kou-chan, that Tobio over here sniped Kaname-chan?”

 

Hinata’s eyes are wide with shock as he looks from Kageyama, to Suga, to Oikawa and back again. Kageyama closes his eyes in frustration.

 

“Yes, he confessed his crimes to me.” Suga answers, too nonchantly to be natural. Sawamura-san shoots him a look Kageyama can’t decipher, but the Queen ignores it. “We all know what you would have done instead, Oikawa-san.”

 

Oikawa growls a little under his breath, but Iwaizumi’s hand clamps around his wrist before he can advance towards Suga. Instead, he shakes Iwaizumi off and settles on running a hand through his side-swept hair, fiery glint in his eye. “You’ll regret this. Give Tobio to me.”

 

“Oikawa-san, I will not repeat myself again,” Suga’s gentle voice echoes around the walls of the foyer, tone of finality overpowering. “Please leave.”

 

There is a short silence, in which Oikawa looks like he’s gathering himself, not used to being denied. Iwaizumi holds the door open for him, gaze appealing for Oikawa’s obedience this one time.

 

But Oikawa isn’t finished yet.

 

The dark look he shoots Suga is so potent that it sends a chill up Kageyama’s spine. “You _will_ _pay_ for this, _Sugawara_. Just you wait.”

 

The door slams shut behind them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	31. Just A Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY we reached 300 kudos! :)
> 
> Thanks for your support! Enjoy <3

Suga hasn’t felt this helpless for a long time.

 

Kageyama has been forced to kneel on the floor, arms locked in place by Asahi. A shell-shocked Hinata is standing next to the fireplace, wide eyes directed towards the far end of the room, while Nishinoya and Tanaka are standing sentinel at the closed double doors leading out of the drawing room.

 

Ennoshita looks up from where he’s kneeling beside the pile of small, black electronic devices, mouth set. “The feed has just been cut, so I can’t trace them to any particular source. They’re live, though. Every single one is in perfect working condition.”

 

Daichi pushes himself out of the lounge chair, eyes narrowing in that infuriatingly stubborn way of his. He makes sure to lock gazes with Suga before gesturing to Kageyama. “Do you still believe whatever he’s told you, Suga? I’m sure the evidence we have is more than enough.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous, Daichi,” Suga retorts, feeling frustration bubble in the pit of his stomach. “I found him _bleeding out_ on the street – I had to chase his attackers away before they killed him! Oikawa kicked him out of the hearts long ago, would have _killed_ him long ago, so he doesn’t have any claim over Kageyama anymore. He’s a Spade now. He wouldn’t betray us.”

 

“Ridiculous? _I’m_ the one being ridiculous?” Daichi scoffs, crossing well-defined arms over his broad chest. “I’m not the one who decided to lie to the entire suit on behalf of some kid he found.”

 

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Suga sighs, rubbing at his nosebridge. Daichi is as stubborn as a mule, to the point of it being infuriating at times, even to someone as patient as Suga. It’s much like attempting to push a square boulder – you never really get anywhere doing it. “You wouldn’t have given Kageyama a chance if you knew. I made sure he had an escort at all times. I would never endanger the suit.”

 

“I know that, baby, and it’s not your fault. I trust you.” Daichi’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to squeeze Suga’s arm. The steel returns in the blink of an eye, and then the King is stalking up to Kageyama with a dark expression plastered across his features. “But I’m not so sure about him.”

 

Suga marches after him, fully intending to stop Daichi from reaching Kageyama, but Ennoshita steps in his way with a small, apologetic smile.

 

“So,” As Daichi cracks his knuckles, Asahi props Kageyama up at an angle so that his back is arched uncomfortably and he has no choice but to face Daichi directly. Suga worries his lip – Kageyama’s naturally defiant blue gaze is not something that is about to help his situation. “Is Kageyama Tobio even a real name? Or have you been lying about that as well?”

 

“Tooru’s mother married my father after his father passed away. I’m his half brother; he just didn’t take the new surname. I’m not lying.” Kageyama replies, spitting out the words like they burn his throat on the way to his mouth. “Our mother is the black widow – Nanahara Hikari. My father passed when I was an infant.”

 

“It doesn’t seem like you’re on good terms with Oikawa,” Daichi grips Kageyama’s jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks. The smaller boy winces at the vice-like grip. “What was it that pushed you to deceive Suga this way? Was it Oikawa? Did he want to turn Suga against us, or make us ostracize him? Suga’s heart has always been too big for-”

 

With the realization of a steel-like resolve, Suga decides that he has heard _enough_.

 

“Move aside or I will _make_ you,” Suga hisses, so uncharacteristically that Ennoshita steps back and allows him through. Even Hinata, who had been looking dazed the entire time since Oikawa’s visit, snaps his shocked gaze to Suga.

 

Daichi drops his hand and straightens, turning around to regard Suga with what he considers is his ‘Kingly’ expression – something he’d practiced a couple times in front of their bathroom mirror sometime long ago.

 

“Suga-”

 

“Is that what you really think?” Suga questions, meeting his lover in the eye and staring him down. Daichi averts his gaze for a second, but by then Suga already _knows_. “How dare you. How fucking _dare_ you, Daichi! I’m no _child_ , I’m not helpless, and I can take care of my own goddamn self! I’m a Queen – treat me like one!”

 

“Suga,” Daichi is frowning as he draws Suga’s name out in a disappointed drawl, but Suga is too far gone to care. “You’re right. You’re just a Queen, so do as I stay and _stand down_.”

 

“ _Just_ a Queen?” Suga is silent for a moment – a moment in which his wrath, in all its cold fury, finally rears its ugly head and _snaps_. “ _Just a Queen_?! You’d be _no one_ without me, Sawamura Daichi. If you think you could ever, _ever_ hope to be where you are today without my help, I’ll laugh in your face. Fuck you, and fuck your-”

 

“Suga!” Daichi growls, and Asahi trembles behind him. Kageyama is looking at them with widened blue eyes. “Watch your mouth, you’re still talking to a-”

 

“ _Stubborn son of a bitch who never listens to anything he doesn’t agree with_!” Suga screams, right in Daichi’s face, and then there’s a sudden impact on his cheek that makes his skin smart and his eyes water.

 

Daichi is looking at his own hand in disbelief, and the room is suffocatingly silent.

 

Daichi hit him. Daichi actually _hit_ him.

 

Suga doesn’t cry. Instead, he levels his gaze, calms his voice and stares Daichi right in the eye. “You’re the king who locks his war falcon in a cage, who watches as it falls to illness but does nothing to stop it for the sake of his own pride. _I fucking hate you_ , Sawamura Daichi.”

 

And then he turns and marches away, past a frozen Hinata, past a gaping Tanaka, past a silent Nishinoya, and then sprints all the way back to his room. He might be acting like a child, but he’s more than had enough – Daichi has been undermining his efforts for years. It’s not fair. _Its not fair_! He can’t just… say that Suga means nothing, not after all he’s done for Daichi, after all he’s done for the suit.

 

There’s a pitcher of water sitting on his coffee table, and Suga immediately pours himself a glass in a rather vain attempt at extinguishing the fires raging in his belly; the earthquake shaking up his head.

 

After a minute or so, however, it turns out his efforts hadn’t truly been for nothing, and the water actually seems to be working. He feels calmer, agitated pants shallowing into nothing, and his emotions are a little fuzzy around the edges. Is it working a little too well? Frowning, Suga clutches at his head when the world turns upside down and he stumbles over his own two feet.

 

“Feeling a little sleepy, Suga-chan?” A smooth, knowing voice penetrates the haze of his thoughts, and the silver haired Queen blinks slowly as the form comes into focus.

 

“K-Kuroo?” Suga’s hearing is a little disjointed, but his voice still doesn’t sound like his own. He tries to blink to clear his vision, but it gets worse when the black ringing his sight starts muffling it altogether. “What…W-What did you do?”

 

Kuroo shushes him gently, and warmth envelops Suga. He smells the same as he did that morning, and Suga wonders if he ever left at all.

 

“Don’t worry, Suga-chan, just sleep.” And there’s something else in Kuroo’s tone that a disorientated Suga can’t identify. “I’ve got you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	32. White Marble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haikyuu gives me goosebumps every time omg I'm suddenly really pumped for season 3 again?? Also this is a pretty long chapter in comparison to previous ones HAHA I couldn't help it.
> 
> Thanks for the support :)) Enjoy <3

Kyotani follows the trail of blood as silently as he can, even though all he truly wants to do is explode in a fit of anger and run about the hallways shouting Yahaba’s name.

 

The door to Yahaba’s room had been open when he’d arrived, drops of blood leading away from it and down the hall. Just thinking of Yahaba’s terrified voice, how Hanamaki had actually dared place his filthy, whore-tainted paws on Kyotani’s sweet, pure Yahaba, makes his anger skyrocket and his fist clench, white-knuckled, around his gun.

 

That strawberry headed fucker is going _down_.

 

There are echoes travelling down the hallway now, and Kyotani blesses Oikawa’s gaudy taste in white marble. At least he knows he’s going in the right direction.

 

But then he pauses for a second, cocking his head and frowning in the effort to identify the odd noises. It takes a moment, but he realises that the echoes aren’t footsteps. They’re _moans_ – low, lewd groans that reverberate throughout the cold stone hallway like a sickening mantra; wanton, unabashed mewls that aren’t muffled in the least.

 

And just around the next corner, facing the doors leading to the Hearts’ greenhouse, is Hanamaki. His head is thrown back in ecstacy, snapping his hips forward – almost violently – into Yahaba’s open mouth. The smaller of the two is kneeling on the ground, stark naked and pressed so fully against the glass doors that his hair is splayed out on the smooth material. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks as faint choking noises leak out from his otherwise occupied mouth.

 

Kyotani sees red.

 

The gun goes off, and it takes Kyotani a second to register that it’s _his_ gun that had fired.

 

Hanamaki pulls out from Yahaba immediately, startled by the sudden noise. Satisfaction blooms in Kyotani’s chest when the bullet slices through the skin of Hanamaki’s arm; the Queen crying out as blood spurts out of the wound like a fountain of red.

 

Without the support Hanamaki had provided, Yahaba falls onto his forearms, gagging into his hand. Kyotani advances towards Hanamaki furiously, a growl ripping from his throat as he sees the many bruises littering Yahaba’s skin – it’s so terrible that it looks as though he has a disease.

 

And Yahaba has _never_ bruised easily.

 

“Shigeru, hang in there,” Kyotani’s anger is almost tangible when he turns to face Hanamaki. “You fucker-”

 

But Hanamaki is reaching for his holster and, instinctively, Kyotani _snarls_ , pouncing onto the downed Queen with one feral leap. The motion knocks Hanamaki’s gun from his hands, and the metallic handgun skitters across the floor, coming to a stop at the base of a flower vase. In the resulting scuffle, Kyotani manages to get a punch in, knuckles meeting the soft flesh of Hanamaki’s cheek with a dull crack.

 

Kyotani tries to aim at Hanamaki, but the taller of the two already has his arms braced, pushing the barrel of Kyotani’s gun away from his face. Wrapping his legs around Kyotani’s, Hanamaki flips them over with one strong twist of his torso – he’s not the Queen for nothing, after all. Hanamaki is one of the best at combat in the suit; second only to Iwaizumi.

 

Kyotani’s grip never falters, however, and his gun remains pressed against Hanamaki’s purlicue.

 

“I assure you, Kentarou-kun, I enjoyed my time with Shi-chan here wonderfully,” Hanamaki spits to the side, a glob of blood landing on the floor beside Kyotani’s head. His grin, taunting and arrogant, is painted red. “Don’t know if I can say the same for him though, poor lamb can’t even stand up after the glorious ass-pounding he had _all night long_.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard!” Kyotani roars angrily, eyes flickering to where Yahaba is; propped up on his elbows and watching them with wide eyes. “He didn’t even do anything-!”

 

It’s all the distraction Hanamaki needs.

 

The gun goes flying, and Kyotani gasps in pain – is his wrist sprained? There’s no time to think about it anymore, because the 2 finds himself blocking out a flurry of well-aimed punches. Hanamaki has amazing strength for his size, and Kyotani knows enough to realise that he’s aiming to kill.

 

“Shigeru’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Hanamaki’s rough baritone breaks through the relentless punches like fuel on a fire, and Kyotani feels something – beyond the anger, beyond the fury – break like an overflowing dam. He’s watched Hanamaki shatter the hardest of souls with that voice, he just never thought he’d be one of them. “And to think, I only wanted to take out my anger on him. Now that I’m going to kill you, there’s _nothing_ stopping me from keeping him to myself from now onwards, is there?”

 

The surge of protectiveness, of jealousy and _rage_ , pushes Kyotani to do something or say something because Shigeru is _his_ and no one else’s. He won’t let Hanamaki have Shigeru, not over his dead body.

 

In the end, however, he doesn’t even have the time to answer.

 

The gunshot echoes through cold marble hallways like a never-ending loop.

 

The ringing in Kyotani’s ears doesn’t stop – not when Hanamaki’s fists freeze in mid-air, not when he looks down at the blood spreading across the thin white material of his shirt, not when his eyes close and Kyotani has to push the corpse away.

 

It almost feels like an out-of-body experience, how he slowly turns to look at Yahaba, and the brunette just stares back at him; allowing Kyotani’s gun to fall from his fingers and clatter onto the floor.

 

“ _Not a chance_.”

 

And then everything crashes down on him at once, and he rushes to Yahaba’s side – rough fingers skirting over the bruises on his skin in concern. Kyotani doesn’t even think about it, just crashes his lips against Yahaba’s slightly upturned ones in desperation, worry, love-

 

“What the fuck is happening h-”

 

They break apart immediately, just in time to see Matsukawa’s sleepy eyes widen in shock. The tall, black-haired Joker takes a step back, almost in disbelief, when he sets eyes on Hanamaki’s prone form and the thick pool of blood gathering slowly under it. That same gaze rakes over Yahaba haltingly, as though it physically hurts to do so, before he simply closes his eyes.

 

Kyotani pulls a trembling Yahaba into his tight embrace, partly in an effort to preserve what’s left of his modesty, but moreso an attempt at comforting him. They have no idea how Matsukawa will react – Hanamaki had been his best friend, after all.

 

Will he execute both of them on the spot?

 

But Matsukawa’s voice is hollow when he finally speaks, his gaze filled with an odd understanding – even as it falls on the Queen’s corpse. “Cover him up, then leave. Never come back.”

 

Kyotani snaps to attention and spares no time in doing as the Joker says – wrapping his coat around Yahaba’s narrow shoulders and picking him up in a bridal carry. This is their chance. They need to get out of there _fast_ ; before Oikawa hears about it, before Iwaizumi hunts them down and murders them in their sleep. Before Matsukawa changes his mind and decides to chase after his best friend’s killers instead of just falling to his knees in front of the very dead body.

 

This time, Kyotani curses Oikawa’s ostentatious white marble interiors because the heartwrenching sobs that follow after them are loud and all too clear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	33. The Best Policy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us observe a moment of silence for the first casualty of this fic. Will there be more? Who knows! (oh right, I do!) (*evil laughter*) Also my friend peeked at my screen while I was writing in school and she just went "who even laughs 'yahaba'?" HAHAHAHA (she doesn't follow haikyuu)
> 
> Thanks for the support :)) Enjoy! <3

“So, Oikawa Toru’s brother, huh?”

 

Kageyama flinches at Tsukishima’s quiet scorn, glaring at the floor so intensely it’s almost as if he wanted to burn a hole into the carpet. Hinata is frowning as well, more silent than Kageyama has ever seen him.

 

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Yamaguchi adds, arms crossed over his chest from where he’s standing beside his tall blonde friend. He falters for a second, seemingly struggling with himself. The words come out in a rush. “Did you really kill Moniwa-san?”

 

Kageyama closes his eyes and nods. Yamaguchi gasps, but Kageyama speaks first.

 

“I might have done terrible things in the past, but I never intended to harm the Spades.” Kageyama’s fingers wriggle where he’s lost feeling in them – Ennoshita hadn’t given him any slack when he’d bound his wrists together. “Suga-san saved me. Without him, I’d be dead, and I can never hope to repay that debt. If you don’t believe I wouldn’t sabotage the Spades, then at least trust that I wouldn’t do anything to harm Suga until my debt is repaid.”

 

There is silence, where Hinata finally looks up to stare at Kageyama instead. Tsukishima shakes his head, a small, mocking smirk forming on his lips. “You sure are talented with words, Kageyama.”

 

“No,” Kageyama replies, blue eyes piercing as he frowns at Tsukishima. “Not as good as Toru is.”

 

“Then how do you explain the surveillance gear?” Hinata’s voice seems out of place, somehow, in a situation so full of tension. There’s some kind of fire in it, a wild element that doesn’t belong. “If you were never a spy for the Hearts, how did Ennoshita-san find evidence that you were?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m still trying to figure it out myself.” Kageyama nibbles on his lower lip. At Tsukishima’s scathing look, Kageyama growls. “There’s no way I could’ve snuck all that tech in on the night I got here. I wasn’t even conscious enough to know where I was.”

 

“That’s true,” Yamaguchi nods, an unruly lock of hair falling into his eyes. One of Tsukishima’s eyebrows arches in surprise at his friend. “I saw Suga-san bringing him in when I was heading to the kitchen for water. Kageyama was passed out, and his wounds looked pretty severe. I don’t think the hearts would go that far with their King’s brother, not unless they were seriously trying to kill him.”

 

“Then did those cameras just _magically_ float into the mansion?” Tsukishima’s expression morphs into one of exasperation as he drops unceremoniously into the couch. The four of them are alone; Nishinoya and Tanaka guarding the doors on the outside. Sawamura and Asahi are questioning Shimizu, who, apparently, had been aware of Kageyama’s true identity as long as Suga. “Were there any new members on guard duty the past few days? Any anomalies? Anything could give us a clue – like a new chef, or a gardener? Visitors, maybe?”

 

Yamaguchi scrunches up his face in concentration. He’s been Ennoshita’s understudy for a long time, which means that he’s in charge of security; both around their territory and for the mansion.

 

“Well, there was a small blackout early this morning, but it only affected one frame. I think the new oven fried its socket, or something along those lines, and there haven’t been any outside visitors other than Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san.” Yamaguchi shrugs, scratching the back of his head. “And Ennoshita-san’s been handling our territory because of the-”

 

“Wait, no visitors?” Hinata’s eyes widen, exchanging a befuddled look with Kageyama. He turns back to Yamaguchi. “Kuroo-san was just here this morning, though.”

 

Tsukishima shoots out of the couch, and Kageyama startles because in all the time he’s been with the Spades, Tsukishima has never displayed more emotion than quiet condescension. “Kuroo? Kuroo Tetsurou?”

 

“Yeah, why are you so worked up, Tsukishima?” Hinata wonders warily, amber eyes squinted. “He was talking to Suga-san this morning.”

 

“Because, you _dumbass_ , Kuroo and Sawamura-san have been fighting over Suga-san since they were teenagers! There’s so much history between them that… fuck, they hate each other more than anything, it has to be him.” Tsukishima shakes his head, starting a dial on his phone. “And I wouldn’t put it past that asshole to team up with Oikawa. It’s not like he’s never done it before.”

 

“He must have used the blackout to sneak in undetected, planting the devices on the way.” Yamaguchi’s frown deepens, and he smacks himself on the forehead. “How could I not have seen it before? Of course. We _never_ get blackouts, not when there’s a backup generator. It _must_ have been intentional.”

 

Hinata’s eyes are wide as Tsukishima throws his phone onto the couch in frustration. Sawamura isn’t picking up.

 

The tall blonde doesn’t even make it past the coffee table before the doors are slammed open and a furious Sawamura is storming into the room – heading straight for Kageyama. Shimizu and Asahi scurry after him, the former pushing her glasses higher on her nose.

 

“ _Suga is missing_.” Sawamura growls, grabbing Kageyama by the collar. Hinata gasps, stumbling over his feet when he stops in his tracks. “If I find out that _you_ have anything to do with it, Kageyama…”

 

Daichi’s growl is so menacing that Yamaguchi steps backwards, but Tsukishima does the opposite.

 

“Sawamura-san, we think Kageyama is innocent.” Sawamura shoots Tsukishima a narrowed glare the same time Kageyama’s head snaps upwards, indignant at having to be defended by someone he doesn’t particularly like. “There was no way he could have snuck all that equipment into the mansion without detection; Ennoshita-san is too thorough. And the most interesting thing about this is that he and Hinata claim that… Kuroo was in the mansion this morning. Visiting Suga-san.”

 

Sawamura freezes, dropping Kageyama back onto the couch just as Ennoshita bursts into the room. The 3 hesitates slightly at the tension perpetuating the air, but continues anyway when Sawamura’s gaze, though somewhat wild, motions for him to speak. “I was checking the surveillance tapes, and I’m not sure how, but Kuroo-san was just here. He drugged Suga.”

 

“Do you think he might be working together with Oikawa?” Tsukishima’s expression is set, brows knitted together in a deep frown. Ennoshita pauses, gauging Sawamura’s silence, before nodding once.

 

“Asahi,” Sawamura’s voice is one of barely restrained fury, and the rather mousy ace jumps when he’s called. “Get a hold on Kuroo. We need to find out where he is; he’s not stupid enough to head back to the Clubs after pulling off a stunt like this.”

 

“What will we do about Oikawa?” Ennoshita asks as Asahi scurries away and Shimizu falls onto the couch with a weary exhale. “We’re still not sure if he has anything to do with this, since we don’t have any evidence against him.”

 

“If we get to Kuroo, we’ll be able to get his statement on Oikawa,” Tsukishima cocks his head, calculating gaze apathic. “Oikawa won’t be found if he doesn’t want to be, so we should concentrate on finding Kuroo for now.”

 

“It’ll be too late,” Sawamura shakes his head, frustration evident in his tone. It’s obvious how much Suga means to Sawamura, for him to be so worried even after a full-blown fight.

 

“Actually,” A disgruntled voice pipes up, and the occupants of the room turn to face a glaring Kageyama. “If you’re willing to hear it, I have an idea.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	34. Ready or Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shitballs this week was really stressful for me, which means I somehow found more time to procrastinate by writing this, which means that I am now writing chapter 40 HAHAHA
> 
> Thanks for your support :)) Enjoy <3

Futakuchi Kenji is a pretty simple guy.

 

He likes sour gummies, lazing around on pefectly cloudy days and provocation – at least enough to get a reaction out of people. He’s simple in the way that he likes going about things in the same way, leading a straightforward life of killing his enemies and drowning in its rewards.

 

Revenge is not something Futakuchi had ever seen himself obsessing over; at least not in a large enough scale as this.

 

He would never have thought he’d have the patience to _wait_ to go through with a revenge plot two years in the making; spanning across all four suits, manipulating even the most powerful players on the board.

 

It would have been too tedious. _Way_ too much trouble.

 

But then again, there are people who say that love knows no bounds – even when faced with certain death – and amongst all the little things he’s fond of, Futakuchi (as unlikely a romantic as he seems) still loves Moniwa the most.

 

_Present_ tense, because it still holds true, even though his King’s body is rotting away at the bottom of the Tokyo city river.

 

“You alright?” Terushima approaches with a cocked brow, running a hand through his artistically messy blonde hair. He plops down next to the tall brunette and the cushion shifts below them.

 

“Yeah, never better,” Futakuchi spares him a sideways smirk and nods, averting his gaze right after.

 

Across the room from them, Yaku and his tall, silver-haired friend – Lev, a half-russian who hadn’t been a part of the Clubs when Futakuchi had still been ‘alive’ – are talking in hushed whispers. They’re more than just friends, if the taller boy’s touchy behaviour is anything to go by, although their height difference is noteworthy (amusing, in Futakuchi terms).

 

Lev had been resistant at first, almost pouncing on Futakuchi once they’d gotten introduced. Apparently, he’d thought that Futakuchi was the cause of Yaku’s injuries. However, a little persuasion from Yaku fixed his attitude easily enough, and finding out who, exactly, had hurt Yaku in the first place, banished Lev’s doubts entirely.

 

It must be nice, just being able to be protective over someone.

 

Watching them now is almost like watching what Futakuchi and Moniwa could have been like. What Futakuchi could have had, if not for that son of a bitch Oikawa.

 

Absently, the tall brunette scratches at the puckered scar travelling over his collarbone; the ghost itch of an old wound.

 

They could have been perfect together.

 

Moniwa would have retired in mere _months_ , and Futakuchi would take over his role as King after. Moniwa had never been as oblivious as he usually let on, and he knew Oikawa was not a suitable candidate for King, regardless of his many talents. The power would have driven him crazy, eventually.

 

The only miscalculation they had was how power-hungry Oikawa already had been.

 

A fatal mistake.

 

“You always get that look in your eye when you think about Oikawa-san,” Akaashi comments, monotonously, as he leans against the kitchen door frame. He’s nursing a cup of green tea, judging by the aroma wafting from it. “Or Moniwa-san.”

 

Terushima snorts, attractively unattractive. “Got that right. You’re too easy, Kenji.”

 

“Well, excuse me for thinking about my dead boyfriend and the dick who doomed my entire suit,” Futakuchi retorts, rolling his eyes. He sobers slightly when he turns to regard Akaashi. “Anyway, d’you have any idea why Kyotani bailed? He was our only link into the hearts.”

 

Akaashi sighs deeply, green-grey gaze a little more narrowed than usual. “Yahaba-san got caught in the crossfire, apparently, and they killed Hanamaki-san. They’re keeping radio silence until they can get out of the country.”

 

Terushima harrumphs. Futakuchi frowns.

 

“We have orders.” Akaashi shrugs, nonchantly, but Futakuchi sees the tension in his shoulders – Akaashi’s job is one of the most difficult of them all. Not in the physical sense, but more emotionally. “We’ll follow them through, even if things are a little different now.”

 

“And by different, you mean harder,” Yaku grumbles from where he’s sitting in Lev’s lap, dark expression a sharp contrast to the taller, half-russian’s puppy-like grin.

 

“If we play our cards right, it won’t be,” Akaashi shakes his head, skillfully ignoring Futakuchi’s burning gaze. One of his slim eyebrows arches as he scrolls through some messages on his phone. “And I think we’ll have our chance tonight.”

 

“ _Tonight_?” Terushima interjects, leaning forward in his seat with a bright gleam in his eyes. Akaashi’s expression seems to morph from interest to scorn in a matter of seconds, and the Wild Card grins. “That’s _fast_. What happened?”

 

“Sugawara-san has just gone missing.”

 

“I can’t believe it,” Lev gasps, eyes widening as he aims a shocked look at Yaku. The latter shakes his head, clenching his fists in agitation. “I know we were banking on it to proceed with the plan, but… I can’t believe Kuroo actually crossed the line.”

 

“Oikawa was the one who suggested it in the first place,” Futakuchi shrugs, grimacing darkly. He should have drowned the skinny little fucker in his champagne the first time he’d met him, all those years ago. It would definitely have saved them a lot of trouble… and a lot of lives. “It’s just like him to hurt someone to get to another, fucking bastard.”

 

There is a slight pause, in which Akaashi simply stares at Futakuchi, dark eyes unreadable, before he speaks. “Are you really ready for this, Futakuchi-san?”

 

Futakuchi might never have thought of himself as someone capable of harbouring such deep-seated resentment. He’d surely never bothered to before. But Oikawa is someone that makes something as despicable as taking revenge feel _easy_ , almost _natural_ , after having ruined his life and taking the lives of those he holds dear.

 

Futakuchi can never forgive Oikawa, and he can never forgive _himself_ for failing so completely.

 

All of them have something riding on this bordering-ridiculous plan, some more than others. But all of them are staking their lives on the rare chance that they succeed.

 

So even though Futakuchi might not give a rat’s ass about his own life, he _will_ see this through – for his friends, for his revenge, and for the love of his life; who he never even got the chance to love properly.

 

“Honestly, I’d be more worried about yourself, Aka-chan,” Futakuchi snickers, standing up and leering down at the black-haired Queen. Grinning, he reaches to ruffle Akaashi’s hair even while faced with a menacing deadpan. “Me, on the other hand? _I’ve been ready for the past two years_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	35. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I have no idea how aphrodisiacs are supposed to work sooOooOO  
> 2\. Explicit content warning!!
> 
> Thanks for the support! Enjoy <3

It’s hot. _Too hot_.

 

Burning, burning, _burning_ -

 

Suga squints against the harsh lighting as his vision slowly returns. His eyelids feel heavy, so very much like lead, and the silver-haired Queen groans softly as he tries to stretch out sleeping limbs – only to come to an abrupt halt when the cool metal of handcuffs scratches against his heated skin and he outright _keens_.

 

Golden orbs widening, he looks around blurrily as he tries to ignore the raging inferno in his lower belly. Suga’s eyesight is still hazy at best, but every other feeling is heightened – from the cold, almost glacial air brushing against his boiling skin, to the droplets of sweat trickling down his temples and the overbearing restriction of his hardness straining tightly against the front of his pants.

 

_Aphrodisiacs?_

 

“I see you’re finally awake,” A silky voice comments, and Suga can only blink tiredly as Kuroo squats down right in front of him. His smile is cocky as he reaches to grasp Suga’s face in his hand. “Although that may be my fault, since I overdosed you a little.”

 

“W-what are you trying to-” Suga frowns when his skin sparks under the gentle touch, little ripples of sensitivity spreading over his cheek. His voice is husky from disuse, and his intonation is sluggish and slow, more like little noises than actual words.

 

Kuroo’s fingers trace light patterns into the sensitive skin at Suga’s neck; trailing down the thin material of his white shirt and circling around a perk nipple. To Suga’s horror, he has to swallow a whine at the sudden, shocking pleasure that shoots through his body, somehow growing even harder under the sensual touch.

 

“So hard already, baby?” Kuroo croons sweetly, almost patronizingly, as though he were talking to a child. Suga notices the deranged spark in Kuroo’s eyes when he moves to stroke the Queen’s cheek – iliciting a shuddering sigh from him. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

 

And then, without breaking a sweat, Kuroo slides his arms below Suga’s knees and around his back, before lifting him in a bridal carry.

 

Pressed against Kuroo’s chest, Suga starts panting involuntarily.

 

The cool air had been a welcome distraction away from the burning heat in his belly, but now that he’s shielded against it by Kuroo’s overwhelming heat, it almost feels as though he’s burning up.

 

Suga pushes against Kuroo’s chest weakly, shaking his head, because he can’t seem to produce any intelligible noises. He feels so uncomfortable he feels _sick_ – Kuroo shouldn’t be holding him so close, not with his intentions being far from pure.

 

Kuroo isn’t Daichi; he’s not allowed to touch him in _that_ way. Suga _promised_.

 

“Now, now, don’t struggle, Suga-chan,” Kuroo hushes him as he lowers Suga down onto a bed, impossibly gentle. The silver-haired Queen continues shaking his head, but Kuroo ignores him, instead working at unlatching the buttons on Suga’s shirt. “I’ll make it all better, baby.”

 

Suga all but whimpers when Kuroo presses against him in a chaste kiss, flicking his tongue over Suga’s closed lips teasingly. Cool air hits his bare torso when Kuroo pulls off his shirt, and hot tears spill down his cheeks – odd, he hadn’t even realised when they’d started forming. Maybe it’s why his vision is so clouded.

 

“Oh right,” Kuroo grumbles slightly under his breath, reaching to grab something off the side table. There is the flash of a camera, and Suga’s eyes grow even wider in question at the phone pointed at his face. He almost gets the words out, too, but then Kuroo is already throwing the small device to the side and leaning back down to palm him through his pants.

 

Sheer pleasure rips through Suga’s senses and he _moans_ , back arching off the bed because _more_ , he _needs_ more. The feelings are so intense, past the haze of induced lust and unbearable heat, that it actually _hurts_ , tearing away at his self-restraint as though it were nothing more than a sheet of wet paper.

 

Kuroo’s smirk is wide as he unbuttons Suga’s fly and pulls his pants down in one fluid motion. Under him, Suga pants heavily and wriggles in Kuroo’s grasp – torn between fighting it all and embracing the physical contact.

 

_Not Daichi. Not Daichi. He’s not-_

 

“You’re already so wet for me, Suga-chan,” Kuroo clucks his tongue, almost reprimandingly, as he slips a hand into Suga’s boxers and teasingly presses a finger against his slit. A high-pitched whine slips out from between the Queen’s tightly clenched teeth, bound hands struggling for purchase as his body convulses – the aphrodisiacs are making him much too sensitive. Kuroo grins at the rather pathetic sight and pulls down Suga’s boxers as well. The latter grimaces when his dick springs free of its confines and is exposed to the cool air. “I knew it. You want this as much as I do, don’t you?”

 

“N-No, I… No,” Suga stutters weakly, frantically shaking his head. This can’t actually be happening, can it? He can’t… he doesn’t want this. Not with Kuroo. He loves Daichi, but… then why is his body still responding to Kuroo’s touches? Why can’t he stop himself?

 

The silver-haired Queen jumps when Kuroo spreads his legs and dribbles some lube onto his hole. He squirms somemore, but the wild-haired King holds him in place, easing a finger into the tight ring of muscle.

 

Suga whimpers again – the heat is much worse now that he’s so close, but the finger in him is much too little, so much less than what he needs- but this is not Daichi. It’s _Kuroo_. He shouldn’t be enjoying this, it’s weird. It’s sick! He can’t-

 

And then suddenly, there are two fingers in him, _curling_ inside of him, and he’s so close – _so close_! Unwittingly, Suga mewls, begging almost unconsciously as he twists and turns in Kuroo’s hold. He doesn’t even know what he’s begging _for_.

 

“I’ll show you what you missed, when you chose him over me,” Kuroo hisses as he tugs his boxers down, just enough to pull out his hard, leaking cock. By then, Suga’s head is already just a jumbled mess of incomprehensible thoughts, and his head simply lolls to the side when Kuroo removes his fingers from Suga’s well-slicked hole. “And you’ll love it as much as I do.”

 

Suga _sobs_ when Kuroo slides into him, sheathing himself all the way to the hilt. He’s longer than Daichi but leaner, and he fills him in a completely different way than Suga is used to. The wild-haired King moans softly at the heat that envelops him, falling onto his forearms and latching onto Suga’s neck with his teeth.

 

_It’s not fair_. It’s not fair how Suga doesn’t even have _any_ control over his own body, how he’s fucking _helpless_ , how he can’t even do _anything_ in this sort of situation. Maybe it would have been better if Kuroo had just forced himself on Suga – it would definitely be simpler. Straightforward, just like he’s always felt it is.

 

But now, as Suga feels the pressure building unbearably, pleasure exploding behind his lids with every thrust, he’s not so sure anymore. He’s not so sure that it’s just Kuroo’s fault; isn’t Suga himself enjoying it too?

 

So, after Suga spurts white across Kuroo’s lean torso; convulsing with the overwhelming sensation of orgasm, he lays still and does nothing but _feel_ as Kuroo jerks a few more times before filling him up.

 

_Daichi_ …

 

_It’s not fair._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	36. Black and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I'm actually really proud of myself for managing to make it so far :D
> 
> Thanks for the support!! Enjoy <3

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

The nurse bustles around Yahaba’s bed without attempting small talk – something Yahaba is extremely grateful for – and notes his vitals down on a white notepad. The strong burn of antisceptic worms its way into his nostrils, distinct hospital smell numbing his brain.

 

“I’m going to check your IV tube, okay, Yahaba-san?”

 

Yahaba ignores her, averting his gaze to stare up at the bright fluorescent lights dully. Her fingers are cold where they linger on his skin, turning to expose his heavily bruised forearm.

 

None of the hospital staff – except the head doctor – know of his situation. They’re all aware of who Yahaba and Kyotani are, definitely. It’s the only way they could’ve gotten such speedy treatment, after all, but they have no other knowledge of his condition. They _can’t_. Yahaba’s pride wouldn’t survive; not while it’s in the tattered state it’s in now.

 

The door swings open just as the nurse finishes up the short check-up, and Yahaba perks up when Kyotani enters; using his arms to push himself upright.

 

“How are you doing, Shigeru?” Kyotani asks bluntly, nodding at the nurse as she exits the room. There is a bandage on his cheek, another over the bridge of his nose and maybe more under his clothes, but overall, he just looks like his normal, grumpy self. Yahaba is glad.

 

“Pretty good, considering what happened,” Yahaba shrugs, offering his lover a watery smile. He slips while still attempting to prop himself up, but holds out a hand to stop Kyotani from helping him. “Don’t!”

 

The faux blonde rolls his eyes at Yahaba’s stubborn pride and presses one of the buttons on the side of the automated bed. With a soft mechanical whirr, the top half of Yahaba’s bed bends so that it’s in an upright position.

 

Yahaba grumbles lightly under his breath.

 

“So, how are you _really_ feeling, Shigeru?” Kyotani prods again, mattress dipping as he takes a seat next to Yahaba’s hip. Cold fury wraps around his veins as he surveys the multitude of bruises – purple, blue, black – dotting Yahaba’s normally flawless skin in sporadic patterns. “And don’t lie, not to me.”

 

Yahaba is silent for a moment as he considers his answer. “Are you going to leave me, Kentarou?”

 

Kyotani’s eyebrows arch, but the answer is immediate. “Never.”

 

“Then I’ll be fine,” Yahaba shakes his head, sighing as he weaves his fingers between Kyotani’s. “Everything sucks right now, and it might take awhile, but, if you’ll stay with me, I think… everything will be fine.”

 

Kyotani leans in for a quick kiss, the pad of his thumb sliding gently over the large purple bruise sitting on Yahaba’s cheekbone. When he draws away, his expression is serious. “For now, I _really_ need you to trust me, Shigeru. You can do that, right? No matter how ridiculous I sound? You understand that, no matter what I do, it’s to protect you? Your safety is _always_ my priority.”

 

“I trust you.” Yahaba frowns as Kyotani helps him into the wheelchair stationed by the bed. He looks so very frail in the paper-thin hospital gown, skin pale and eyes sunken. “What’s this about? What happened?”

 

“We need to leave, before tonight,” Kyotani states, and there is a note of finality in his tone that leaves no room for discussion. He presses his back to the door to hold it open, pushing Yahaba out into the corridor before allowing the door to close behind him. “I’ve already arranged everything. It took a little… _convincing_ , but the hospital is willing to release you after one more check. I’ve already booked our flight for six in the afternoon – it’s not a direct one, unfortunately, but our end destination is still Spain.”

 

Yahaba twists around in the wheelchair to stare, open-mouthed, at his lover. He splutters a little, obviously conflicted about the new information. “ _What_? I’m really, really, glad that you’re so considerate, Kentarou, but isn’t this too soon? We don’t even have any of our belongings, and the suit… How are we going to handle the repercussions? We can’t just run away.”

 

The conversation lulls when they approach the receptionists’ desk, a small crowd of nurses and junior doctors gathered around Yahaba’s nurse.

 

“-so many bruises! You should’ve seen him, Maria-san, it was terrible!” The nurse continues. None of the gathered staff notice the nearing pair. “Didn’t look like no gang fight, more like domestic abuse.”

 

Kyotani squeezes Yahaba’s tensed shoulders, and the latter shakes his head.

 

“What? A Syndicate member?” One of the men in blue scrubs scoffs. “There’s less chance of that happening to one of them than being shot in the gut.”

 

The others nod their assent, and Yahaba’s nurse waves her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sure of it. Bruises, scrapes, all that jazz. It’s like months of abuse piled up in the span of a few hours. And, the thing is, I overheard Mikahashi sensei talking to Niijima-san about sexual assault-”

 

Kyotani clears his throat, interrupting her sentence. Yahaba’s face is stony, and the corridor is suddenly silent as a grave. “Mikahashi-sensei told me to approach the reception for the location of the next check-up?”

 

The crowd disperses immediately, although most of them look back at Yahaba more than once. The receptionist, a plump, middle-aged lady, is a little flushed when she relays the directions to them.

 

They’re in the lift when Kyotani continues their earlier conversation. It’s times like this Kyotani knows that Yahaba doesn’t want to talk about his issues, and Kyotani will give him the space he needs – at least for now.

 

“You won’t have to worry about the suit any longer, Shigeru, at least not after tonight.” Kyotani says, only a little louder than the pleasant elevator music. “I’ve already handled all our valuables while you were going through the tests earlier. What’s important is that we get out of here by tonight. There’s no arguing about this, okay?”

 

Yahaba twists in his wheelchair, eyebrows knitting together. His caramel-coloured eyes are shining with concern. “What’s going on? What’s so important about tonight?”

 

“I’ll explain everything to you when we’re safe,” Kyotani grunts, dark eyes narrowed and more than a little far away. “But for now, just know that… after tonight, nothing in the Underground will ever be the same again.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	37. Only Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Explicit content warning!  
> 2\. Yes, I am a terrible person. 
> 
> Thanks for the support :)) Enjoy <3

In all the time since Kuroo has been estranged from the Spades, he’s found that the feeling of losing someone, and everything else along with them, is a bitterness like no other.

 

Kenma numbed all the terrible emotions very well. His calming presence has helped Kuroo through all these years, masking the contempt and muffling the acid bubbling in the back of his mind – almost to the point that he actually believed that he was content.

 

Of course, that had all been a temporary plug on his exponentially worsening emotional state. He’s come to realise that in recent months, while observing Suga and Sawamura and feeling breathless with jealousy; chest tightening with every stolen glance, every fleeting touch.

 

It had been _suffocating_ , but he had never been able to tear his eyes away.

 

But now, with the silver-haired boy nestled between his legs, _far_ away from Sawamura Daichi – Kuroo can finally breathe. The relief coursing through his veins is like pure ecstacy.

 

Kuroo snakes an arm around Suga’s front, pulling the trembling body flush against his chest. With his other hand, the wild-haired King tenderly combs through soft strands of grey; watching in child-like fascination as the fine, silk-like strands slip through his fingers and fall back in place.

 

“Just like when we were younger, huh, Suga?” Kuroo murmurs, bumping his nose against the tip of the Queen’s ear. The smaller shudders lightly at the intimate touch and turns his face away in disgust. “Just you and me, and no one else.”

 

Without warning, Kuroo dips his head into the curve of Suga’s neck, where it meets his shoulder, and sinks his teeth into supple flesh. The Queen gasps, bound hands knocking into Kuroo’s forearm in surprise. Kuroo is too occupied to notice, however, and continues sucking bruises onto Suga’s skin – he tastes as sweet as he looks, and Kuroo has always had a sweet tooth.

 

“Kuroo… S-Stop.” Suga sqiurms in his grasp in an attempt to dislodge Kuroo’s mouth from his shoulder. ”I don’t want this.”

 

“Well, you weren’t complaining just now,” Kuroo says as he pulls away to admire the dark purple splotches marring Suga’s otherwise unblemished neck and shoulders. “Must mean I really am better than Sawamura.”

 

Suga immediately stiffens, pressing his knuckles insistently on the arm that’s holding him in place. The drugs are still draining out of his system – he’s too weak to put up a real fight. “No, don’t, you’re not Daichi, Kuroo. You’ll never be him. _Let me go_.”

 

“Why can’t you just accept that you made the wrong choice?” Kuroo chastises, feeling calmer than he has in _months_. He could never be angry at Suga, not even when he’s talking about loving another man. It’s obvious that Suga doesn’t truly love Sawamura, after all. Suga belongs with Kuroo. He always has, and he always will.

 

Suga’s just strayed from his rightful path, a little, and Kuroo’s there to help him out.

 

Hooking his hands under Suga’s arms, the wild-haired King lifts the smaller like a child and shifts him in his lap. Now facing each other, Suga is forced to kneel on the lounge chair, legs spread on either side of Kuroo’s thighs – that, or impale himself on Kuroo’s already half-hard dick.

 

“What are you-” Suga gasps, losing his balance when Kuroo removes his hands, leaning back and resting his arms on the headboard. The Queen instinctively lurches forward to grab onto Kuroo’s shoulders for support.

 

“Show me how much you love me, Suga,” Kuroo grins darkly, leaning forward slightly to suck on Suga’s collarbones. The Queen chokes as the King’s tongue runs over his skin, flicking over a perk nipple teasingly, and Kuroo’s smirk widens as he watches Suga’s thighs tremble in the feeble effort to stay upright. “C’mon, baby, give in already. You know you want this.”

 

“I don’t! I don’t want this! Kuroo, _please_ ,” Suga cries, tears of frustration dripping down his cheeks. He has Kuroo’s shoulders in a death grip, but Kuroo can see how hard he’s shaking just from supporting his own weight.

 

It’s only a matter of time, now.

 

And then Suga will finally admit that he belongs to Kuroo – all of his own accord.

 

“I told you, you made the wrong decision by choosing Sawamura over _me_ ,” Kuroo is relaxed, even though he’s already fully hard – just from watching Suga struggle. “When I had you, I had everything. And then Sawamura had to come along and fuck everything up for us, didn’t he? We could have been together forever, Suga.”

 

“Is that.. w-what you’re angry about?” Suga stutters, molten eyes softening at the corners. Kuroo honestly loves that expression on Suga – he looks so soft, so _vulnerable_. He’s panting from exertion. “We were n-never officially… officially together, K-Kuroo. Daichi was the b-better candidate, it had nothing to d-do with-”

 

“That’s a lie,” Kuroo interrupts, cocking an eyebrow. Suga stares at him, looking so very adorably confused and upset. “And you’re going to admit it yourself.”

 

Suga outright _wails_ when his legs give way. Kuroo’s cock had already been aligned, tip brushing against Suga’s hole, so the Queen slips on easily enough with a little help from Kuroo.

 

The silver haired Queen curls in on himself when he realises what he’s done, and Kuroo welcomes the bundle of limbs that fall into his embrace; shaking and sobbing but pliant nonetheless.

 

Maybe there might be people who call Kuroo cruel, who see him as nothing more than a monster. But Kuroo is neither of those – he’s just human, with his own hurt and his own circumstance; and to Kuroo, this is something he should have done long ago.

 

Because Suga and Kuroo had been promised to each other for a decade, and Kuroo’s only taking what belongs to him. Because everything had been going perfectly before Sawamura Daichi had arrived and stolen Suga’s heart, and this is his revenge – his way of taking back all that he had lost, all that had been his for so long but had disappeared into _nothing_ once he’d been forced out of the Spades by someone he once considered his best friend.

 

It’s only Kuroo’s _right_ , after all.

 

Because, for more than fifteen years, everyone had thought that _Kuroo_ would be the next King of Spades.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	38. Kid Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gosh guys I've been so tired and worn out lately, so I do apologize if there are any mistakes here and there. Just really glad that summer break starts next week :D
> 
> Thanks for the support!! Enjoy <3

“They’re not picking up,” Iwaizumi mumbles, shaking his head as he taps on Hanamaki’s contact for the fifth time in a row. The line connects, but the ringing stops before anyone picks up. Even Matsukawa is oddly absent.

 

“Useless imbeciles!” Oikawa declares, huffing as he begins pacing like a b-rate villain. He’d known from the start – _never_ give your Queen too much power, or they’ll yearn for more than you can give them. It’s the exact same mistake Moniwa had made with _him_ , after all, and look where they are now – at the bottom of a river and at the top of a suite. How could he have been so _stupid_! He should never have trusted-

 

Someone is knocking on the door.

 

Sharing a glance with his childhood friend, Oikawa motions for Iwaizimi to answer it. It’s not Hanamaki or Matsukawa – they don’t know the location of this particular safehouse. The only other person who knows about it is…

 

“Oikawa-san?”

 

Oikawa’s mouth splits open in an almost deranged grin when he sees who it is, spreading his arms out in mocking warmth. “Welcome home, Tobio-chan.”

 

Kageyama steps through the front door with his features set in a scowl. Iwaizumi frowns when he closes the door behind him, crossing his arms when he turns around to shoot Oikawa a stern look – one that the King outright ignores.

 

“So, have you become so arrogant that you’ve come here to court death?” Oikawa hums as he steps forwards and walks a full circle around his half-brother. He stops right in front of the smaller, blue-eyed boy and shoves his face into Kageyama’s personal space. “Or are you so much of a traitor that you led your little Spade friends right to us?”

 

“Fuck you, Toru-nii,” Kageyama spits in retaliation, growling right back at his older brother. Oikawa flinches at the childhood nickname. “What kind of person tries to kill his brother? Twice!”

 

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Oikawa is laughing as he pounces on his younger brother, rage fueling the strength in his bones.

 

The brothers land heavily on the floor, Kageyama deflecting Oikawa’s punches with skillful precision. They’ve sparred countless times before; it’s only natural that they would be used to each others’ fighting styles, after all. It just irks Oikawa, _really annoys_ him, that Kageyama always catches on _so quickly_ – no matter how many tricks Oikawa pulls off, no matter how long he’s spent perfecting the moves he uses.

 

Kageyama _really_ pisses Oikawa off.

 

In one fluid movement, Oikawa reaches for the pistol at his belt and jams its barrel into the side of Kageyama’s torso; right below his ribs. His younger brother chokes back a gasp as he reflectively curls in on himself, backing away from the gun.

 

“Iwa-chan.”

 

_This_ is something Kageyama doesn’t have, and will never have, given the way he works. Oikawa watches, quite vindictively, as Iwaizumi steps forward and secures Kageyama with an arm around his neck. The blue-eyed boy struggles at first, only stilling when Oikawa waves the gun in his face.

 

There is a defiant fire blazing in Kageyama’s gaze, and it’s something Oikawa genuinely wants to extinguish.

 

“Let me show you something interesting, baby brother,” Oikawa cocks his head to the side, allowing a nasty smile to spread across his features as he unlocks his phone and scrolls through his recent chats to tap on Kuroo’s name. “I think you’ll like it very much.”

 

Sugawara looks absolutely _wrecked_ in the photo.

 

His ashen hair is dishevelled, mouth half-open in a gasp, and bruises marr his pale skin. His eyes are heavily-lidded and hazy, tears spilling down red cheeks – a far cry from his normally unflappable self.

 

Kageyama freezes as he scans the photo, blue eyes darting back and forth a little frantically. “What… the _fuck_ did you do to him, Oikawa?”

 

“My, my, you’re too innocent, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa shakes his head in an almost provocative manner. His entire demeanor changes in an instant, and he lashes out at Kageyama without warning.

 

Oikawa never pulls his punches, especially when dealing with his infuriating younger brother. Iwaizumi’s grip is steel-like, so Kageyama can only twist his head to the side to spit – the glob of saliva is thick with blood.

 

“ _What the fuck is your problem_?” Kageyama demands fiercely, his bangs falling in a mess with how violently he’s struggling. “You’ve hated me for as long as I remember, even though I have no idea why. Then, when I thought we could finally be civil to each other, you send Kindaichi to kill me! Sugawara-san saved me and _gave me a home_ , Oikawa. That’s way more than I can say for you! He didn’t even _do anything_ to you, he was just being _nice_! Hate me, fine, but why’d you have to ruin everyone else around me too?”

 

Oikawa is actually speechless for a moment, a flash of regret flickering in his gaze.

 

And then it’s gone.

 

“Civil? _Civil_!” The brunette laughs, weaving his fingers through Kageyama’s bangs and tugging at them forcefully. “Is that what you call _betraying_ me? Selling me out? To fucking _Shiratorizawa_?”

 

“You’re fucking delusional,” Kageyama snarls in return, trying to free his hair from Oikawa’s harsh grip. “I _never_ betrayed you! Why would I? You’re my _brother_ – although _you_ don’t seem to have that problem. Fucking bastard.”

 

Oikawa tightens his grip on inky black strands and _growls_. “You little-”

 

“Wait, stop,” Iwaizumi’s rough baritone shatters the moment, and Oikawa is huffing as the shorter male shoves Kageyama down onto the couch. He glares at Oikawa as well, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s obviously something missing here.”

 

“Yes,” Oikawa agrees, nodding fervently. “Tobio-chan’s head, on the floor.”

 

“No, shittykawa,” Iwaizumi barks, pushing him so that the King is forced to sit next to his blue-eyed counterpart. To Iwaizumi, the feud between the two brothers is childish at best. Normally, Oikawa is smarter than this… Maybe. The Ace redirects his attention to the younger male. “Kageyama, Oikawa never sent Kindaichi to kill you – that was all Hanamaki’s doing. We received an anonymous tip that you betrayed the Hearts.”

 

“What?” Kageyama splutters, blinking rapidly. “I would never!”

 

Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow in Oikawa’s direction, and the King frowns. “You’re just gonna take his word for it? There’s no evidence that he didn’t-”

 

“And there’s no evidence that he did,” Iwaizumi deadpans in a way that challenges Oikawa to rebut. But the sudden interruption has disrupted the entire flow of the argument and both Oikawa and Kageyama are silent. “It’s obviously some sort of set-up, so stop being ridiculous. There are more important things to take care of now, and you need to work together to do it. You’re _brothers_. Don’t act like strangers.”

 

“Forget that,” Oikawa snorts, although his tone is softer and his shoulders aren’t as stiff. Kageyama massages his cheek with an angry pout on his lips. Neither of them want to admit it, but Iwaizumi can see how much it relieves them both not to be at odds anymore. “I’ll trust you for now, just because Iwa-chan says so. But we _are_ getting to the bottom of this. Who informed us about Kageyama?”

 

“If I remember correctly,” Iwaizumi frowns, scratching the back of his head just as Oikawa’s phone bursts into an obnoxious cacophony of ohoho’s. “It was Kyotani.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	39. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us have a look into the messy mind of one Sawamura Daichi. (I'm in sO MUCH PAIN GUYS)
> 
> Thanks for the wonderful amazing beautiful support :) Enjoy <3

_“You’ll regret it if I feel any teeth, baby.”_

 

Daichi’s eyes are glued to the screen even though his mind is screaming at him to stop. Ennoshita’s hand is warm on his shoulder, a bare comfort even though the King knows how _rare_ displays of affection are for his 3.

 

“Fucking bastard,” Noya swears, the sound of cracking knuckles filling the room. Asahi and Aone are silent, and Daichi can’t even pull his gaze away long enough to see what their reactions are because he’s still figuring out his own.

 

Daichi has never liked the idea of the blowjob. He’d never wanted Suga to do anything along those lines for him, either, because he felt it too demeaning for the love of his life. Suga is beautiful, and smart, and opinionated and perfect – Daichi could never ask him to get on his knees and… and suck him off like some _common whore_.

 

Suga is different. He always has been.

 

And it’s because Daichi has always thought that Suga is _the one_ , that he’s always been so protective – so _possssive_. Because this is a once in a lifetime chance, and he can’t afford to lose it. Suga is the best thing that has ever happened to him, and he needs to keep him safe.

 

Which is why, as he watches the video sent to his email by Kuroo, Daichi feels like he may never forgive himself ever again.

 

Kuroo is pinching the Queen’s – _his_ Queen’s – nose and forcing himself in when Suga opens his mouth to breathe. And as he watches Kuroo slide himself in, _all the way_ in, Daichi feels his heart shatter into tiny little pieces.

 

“He’s choking, what the fuck,” Noya growls at the screen again, obviously agitated. This time, Asahi shushes him, and Daichi can _feel_ the wary glances thrown his way. As if they’re scared of making him angry.

 

But the thing is, Daichi already is.

 

He’s fucking _enraged_ at Kuroo. How dare he! Disrespect both his and Suga’s wishes, undermine Suga’s worth by forcing him to do something he obviously doesn’t want to do. His insolence, his blatant disregard for anything that they hold dear – _that_ is unforgivable.

 

But moreso, Daichi is furious at himself.

 

He should never have let Suga out of his sight long enough for something terrible like this to happen. He could have been more careful. _He could have prevented this_.

 

And the fact that they’d been screaming at each other right before he’d gone missing… Daichi wishes he could just kill himself to pay for all his mistakes. He’d been wrong – he knows it. He should never have said any of that, he’s more than aware of how sensitive Suga is. He didn’t mean it, any of it.

 

Daichi just loves Suga.

 

So much so he doesn’t even know how to express it all.

 

Fuck.

 

_“So Sawamura, how does it feel to have your one and only brutally raped by your worst enemy?”_

 

Daichi growls when Kuroo addresses him through the video. Suga stiffens immediately, his hands – _bound together_ – reaching to push against Kuroo’s hips. Kuroo just grins at his attempts and cards his fingers through silver hair; grabbing a fistful and pulling hard enough to coerce a muffled cry out of Suga.

 

Noya mutters something in the background, but Daichi is too occupied to notice.

 

“ _Well, it wasn’t like it was a rape, per se_ ,” Kuroo continues, almost lazily, as he smirks down at Suga and drags a finger along the flushed skin of his cheek. He’s slowly moving in and out of Suga’s mouth, hips rolling rhythmically. “ _Since Suga here enjoyed it as much as I did_.”

 

Daichi clenches his jaw and digs his fingers into his palm as hard as he can. Goddamned bastard. When he _gets his hands on him_ -

 

“ _I heard that you’ve never done this with him_ ,” Kuroo drawls, directing a smug smile right at the camera as he holds Suga’s head in place and sheathes himself to the hilt. Muffled sounds of dissent escape through the miniscule gaps between Suga’s lips and Kuroo’s dick, and Daichi feels like punching that arrogant expression right off Kuroo’s face. “ _So I thought I’d show him what he’s… ugh, missing_.”

 

Kuroo shudders, almost invisibly, and then Suga’s eyes widen in shock; his adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

 

_The fucker actually came_. Daichi sees red, anger surging through his veins alongside dashes of jealousy, envy and out-of-place insecurity.

 

“ _If you ever wanna see your beloved again, come find me by tonight_.” Kuroo grins, pulling out of Suga and seemingly unabashed about his own naked state. With nothing keeping him upright, the silver-haired Queen falls onto all fours and hacks; globs of the come he hadn’t managed to swallow dripping onto the floor.

 

The wild-haired King reaches down to grab a fistful of Suga’s hair, yanking him back up so that he’s facing the camera as well. His cheeks are flushed, and his body is very obviously littered with bruises and small scrapes. There are tears escaping from Suga’s eyes and dripping down his cheeks. His lips; red and raw, mouth a quick ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ in the direction of the camera.

 

Daichi might actually end up breaking his armrest today.

 

“ _Told you I’d mark him up_.” Suga winces when Kuroo yanks his head back, baring his hickey-littered neck and collarbones. The wild-haired King is smirking. “ _Make sure you’re alone, Sawamura_.”

 

The feed cuts off, and the screen turns black.

 

“What the fuck.” Noya snarls, ripping out of his seat with a speed only he seems to be able to accomplish. Asahi pulls him back with a firm grip on his wrist, but his face is white as a sheet. “K-Kuroo didn’t provide an address. How are we supposed to find Suga by tonight?”

 

“I can try to track the email,” Ennoshita offers, cupping his chin with a hand. Professional, as always. “We can’t just let Sawamura-san go alone. That’s just falling into the trap-”

 

“I’m going alone, and that’s final. I’m not compromising Suga’s safety.” Daichi interrupts, expression stony. He’s done enough. Suga is in that psychopath’s hands because of _him_. Suga is _suffering_ because of Daichi. He’s not putting Suga in anymore danger, never again.

 

Ennoshita stares at Daichi for a moment, in which the silence seems to stretch, before nodding once. “I’ll get to work immediately.”

 

“I think I know where Kuroo is,” A deep voice emerges from the other side of the couch, halting Ennoshita in his step, and Daichi turns to face a frowning Aone. Everyone is quiet – most of the Spades had assumed Aone had become selectively mute after… after what happened to his suit. “It’s exactly what I remember it as, but it’s as unlikely.”

 

Daichi is already throwing on his coat. He needs to hurry. Kuroo could be doing _anything_ to Suga. He needs to get to them as soon as possible. “Any lead is better than nothing, Aone.”

 

“But...” The knit between Aone’s eyebrows is even deeper than usual, and the uncertainty in his voice manages to give Daichi pause. “It’s _Futakuchi’s_ safehouse.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	40. Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, my friends, is the beginning of the end :")
> 
> Thanks for the support!! Enjoy <3

“Surprise!”

 

Akaashi sneezes when a tuft of colour is shoved into his face, sweet scents overpowering his senses and irritating his nose. He reels backwards, eyes watering, before squinting at the scene in front of him.

 

Bokuto’s eyes are squeezed shut; his arms stretched in the motion of thrusting a bouquet – a _really large_ bouquet – of flowers into Akaashi’s face. It is literally made of a multitude of flowers meshed together in chaotic, clashing harmony.

 

Tentatively, the dark haired Queen pulls the bouquet from Bokuto’s arms and tucks it awkwardly between his own. Bokuto isn’t one for big, romantic gestures and neither is Akaashi; so their relationship has always functioned well in its simplicity.

 

This sudden gift is… pleasant. Very much so.

 

In any other situation, Akaashi would have felt nothing but muted elation. He loves Bokuto, after all.

 

But right now, it just makes Akaashi feel worse.

 

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says respectfully, ducking his head slightly when Bokuto looks back up at him; amber eyes wide. “This is very nice of you.”

 

“You like it, right?” Bokuto flushes a darker red as he scratches the back of his head. Sometimes, Akaashi has trouble identifying his blundering lover as an all-powerful King of the Royal Flush. In the quiet moments between them, Bokuto is more like a child than anything else. “I didn’t know what to get, so I just asked the florist to put in every flower they had.”

 

“Of course I do, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi sighs a little before leaning in and pecking his King on the lips. “But it’s kind of a bad time for this.”

 

Bokuto, whose amber eyes had been glowing in delight, immediately slouches into a puppy-like pout. Akaashi arches an eyebrow at his lover’s crushed expression, gesturing to his bloodstained hands and the two half-dead bodies – pallid in the dim warehouse lighting – lying on the ground.

 

Interest piqued, Bokuto squats and takes the first man’s face in his hands. His grip is anything but gentle, and the man winces when Bokuto’s fingers aggravate the dark purple bruises discolouring the skin on either side of his face. Beside him, the other man seems to have stopped breathing.

 

“What did they do?” Bokuto questions as he pulls back and stands, dropping the man’s head back onto the floor with a dull clunk. He hacks, probably choking on the blood in his mouth, and spits out a tooth.

 

“Stole some of our goods,” Akaashi shrugs, kicking the second man in the side. He groans and rolls over slightly, but otherwise has no reaction. Akaashi frowns in disgust, bringing his eyes back up to meet Bokuto’s amber gaze. “I already have the informaton I needed, though.”

 

“You should’ve said so earlier!” Bokuto grins. He pulls a gun out of the holster around his torso and, without so much as hesitating, shoots both men in the head.

 

Akaashi doesn’t even flinch.

 

Bokuto’s moodswings are something he’s become accustomed to, and they’re easy enough to handle once you get over the initial shock at his sudden change in behaviour. Nothing surprises Akaashi all that much anymore, now that he’s in perfect sync with Bokuto’s particular brand of unpredictability.

 

“Now that we’re alone…” Bokuto smiles mischieviously as he steps closer to his Queen, eyes darting to his mouth and back up to his eyes a few times in what he probably thinks is a discrete notion. Akaashi sighs again, allowing a small quirk of the lips even though his heart is sinking to his stomach, and places the bouquet on his tool table.

 

Their lips meet softly, and Akaashi shivers as he feels Bokuto’s fingers – so very gently – trailing up the heated skin at his neck. Bokuto deepens the kiss, tongue pressing insistently against Akaashi’s lips, as his calloused fingers thread through the Queen’s thick, black hair and tug lightly.

 

It’s a nice kiss; Akaashi loves their kisses almost as much as he loves Bokuto, and Bokuto’s hair, and his bright, expressive eyes, and his beautiful soul, and even all the cracked bits lodged in it.

 

But Akaashi can’t _do_ this anymore.

 

He can’t pretend that everything is fine, that Futakuchi isn’t on the way to his safehouse, can’t act like he hadn’t had a part to play in orchestrating the displacement of so many peoples’ lives – the chaos that has plagued the Syndicate for the past few months.

 

He pulls away from Bokuto roughly, breaking out of his embrace and averting his gaze. And now… he’ll be responsible for something he knows he will _never_ be able to forgive himself for.

 

“Alright, what’s wrong, Keiji?” Bokuto demands, thick eyebrows furrowed. He steps forward, and Akaashi takes a step back. The white haired King growls lowly. “You’ve been acting weird. You’re always drifting off and on your phone, especially lately. We hardly spend time together anymore, and whenever I want to get close to you, you push me away. I didn’t know what to do, and I’ve been worried for so long. Do you… Do you not love me anymore, Keiji?”

 

Akaashi stills, enough that Bokuto gains a step or two on him. But Bokuto is the one who pauses and stares in confusion, because Akaashi throws his head back and _laughs_.

 

It’s bitter and salty and Akaashi realises it’s because he’s crying; tears flowing freely down his cheeks like a river of sorrow and regret and hopelessness. Bokuto reaches out in concern, but Akaashi steps back again.

 

“I love you like… nothing I’ve ever felt before. I want you to be happy, all the time, and I never want to leave your side.” Akaashi stuffs his trembling hands into his pockets roughly, flinching when his fingers brush against the cool metal of his pistol. “I love you, Koutarou. More than anything else in the world. Please remember that.”

 

Boktuo is frowning so hard, the lines between his eyebrows look permanent. “Then-”

 

They both flinch when Bokuto’s phone rings; the familiar, annoying “ohoho” ringtone blaring loudly and echoing around the warehouse.

 

_So it’s time_.

 

“Sorry, Keiji, I have to take this,” Bokuto blinks, directing his gaze down to where he’s fumbling his phone out of his pocket. “Kuroo never calls unless it’s-”

 

“You always do this, Koutarou,” Akaashi interrupts, and Bokuto tears his gaze away from his phone to direct his confusion towards the distraught Queen. “Every fucking time. You throw every fucking thing away – your friends, your boyfriend, your goddamn _morals_ – just because Kuroo-san told you so.”

 

“Fine,” Bokuto snaps back, obviously conflicted and utterly lost, throwing his phone onto the floor. It clatters nosily and slides away, falling silent. “Is that what this is really about, Keiji? Because you were jealous of my best friend?”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi shakes his head and damns the tears that stubbornly continue to roll down his cheeks. It feels more like going through the motions than conscious thought when he shakily pulls his gun out of its holster and trains it on Bokuto’s chest. “This is bigger than just you and me.”

 

Bokuto takes a shocked step back, eyes large and owl-like – Akaashi can tell the exact moment Bokuto’s heart breaks – it shows in his gaze.

 

The safety clicks off. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	41. Sweet Little Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on holiday next saturday, so just expect a short break yea! (I KNOW THIS IS A BAD TIME BUT. I'LL TRY NOT TO LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING TOO MUCH ^^")
> 
> Thanks for all the support :)) Enjoy <3

The house is inconspicuous, to say the least.

 

Near to the industrial sector of the city, Futakuchi’s safehouse is a one storey, grey-coloured cement block situated at the corner of a deserted parking lot. There are a few weeds growing near the chain link fence, but its surroundings are otherwise bleak – white paint faded on weathered tar.

 

Daichi circles the entire area twice, but there’s no other entrance – or exit – into the secluded safehouse. The fence is opened wide, as if extending a twisted welcome to him.

 

Cursing Kuroo one more time, the King tentatively steps into the parking lot and heads towards the small hideout; pulling out his gun as he nears the front door.

 

Daichi is alone. It’s the only way he can guarantee Suga’s safety, after all, as long as Kuroo keeps his word. He’s not stupid – he knows that it’s a trap. Kuroo is definitely more than ready for him, if the well-lit surroundings and single entryway are anything to go by. Daichi has very low chances of making it out of there whole, or even alive, but he can’t bring himself to care. What is crucial here is to get Suga _away_ from Kuroo, and to safety. Daichi would rather sacrifice himself, if it meant Suga’s wellbeing.

 

A world without Suga is no place Daichi wants to live in.

 

The front door swings open before Daichi is even five steps away. The King is so absorbed in observing his surroundings that he almost startles at the sudden movement in such a still and silent environment.

 

“Sawamura,” Kuroo smirks at him from behind the barrel of his pistol, tall figure casting a shadow on the floor from where the light floods out of the doorway. He points his chin at the gun clutched tightly between Daichi’s fingers. “I think you know better than that.”

 

“Where is he, Kuroo?” Daichi growls, throwing the pistol to the side. It clatters on the floor a few feet away. “If you hurt him, I’ll-”

 

“Shh, shh, not too loud Sawamura, you’ll disturb poor little Suga-chan,” Kuroo cocks his head, pressing his gun to his lips in a shushing gesture. His eyes are alight with amusement as he watches Daichi bristle in anger. “I would never hurt him, Sawamura. I love him, remember? Much more than you do, that’s for sure.”

 

“Fucking bastard, you’d never know how much I love him,” Daichi allows a small snarl to rip, gutturally, from his throat. _No one_ is allowed to insult their relationship. “You’re fucking delusional. Where the fuck is he?”

 

Kuroo’s sinister smile is a little strained at the corners, but he steps back nonetheless, splaying out his palms in a _be my guest_ motion.

 

Glaring deeply at the other King, Daichi approaches the safehouse warily; expression set in stone even though his thoughts are running wild. Kuroo will let him see Suga, but he doesn’t know what state Suga is in – Suga won’t be able to escape on his own if he’s injured. There is a knife hidden below Daichi’s boot, in case Suga’s tied up. But Kuroo won’t let him off for long, and then he’ll attack. Daichi might not even be able to _touch_ Suga. Kuroo only promised to let Daichi _see_ Suga, after all. There was nothing else guaranteed.

 

Stepping through the doorway, Daichi’s heart sinks – so fast, and so low, that he feels like turning to the side and emptying the measly contents of his stomach onto the floor rug.

 

They’re in what looks like the living room of the house. The floor is covered in a faded, dark green carpet, and there are a few sofas scattered around the room – one of which Suga is tied to; legs spread open and pulled apart, exposing his leaking, half-hard dick. There is a ball gag keeping his mouth open, a blindfold tied around his eyes, and- and a _vibrator twitching in his hole_.

 

“Su-”

 

Daichi almost bites his tongue when cold steel presses against his temple, Kuroo’s warmth pressing into him from behind. And with a start, Daichi realises that the fucking psycho is _hard_.

 

“Go on, Sawamura. Have your sweet little reunion, because you won’t be alive for long.” Kuroo whispers, breath hot on Daichi’s ear. The shorter of the two stifles the strong urge to punch Kuroo, instead steeling his features and crossing the room with strong strides. He _is_ still a King, even in these circumstances.

 

Kneeling down on one leg, Daichi ignores the hard metal pressing into his back and reaches to cup Suga’s jaw. The Queen flinches away from him, and Daichi has to remind himself that Suga _doesn’t know that it’s him_. He doesn’t know that it hadn’t been Kuroo trying to touch him. Of course he’d react that way.

 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s me.” Daichi soothes, in the same voice he uses to ease Suga’s terrible night terrors. The silver haired boy tenses a little before relaxing, eyes moving behind the blindfold. Biting his lip, Daichi rests his shaking hand on Suga’s cheek, and the Queen pushes back weakly. “I’m so sorry, Koushi. I’m so, _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said when we fought. I should never have pushed you away.”

 

Up close, Daichi can see Suga panting; sweat dripping down his forehead and little whimpers escaping through the gag. His restraints cut against his skin where he’s leaning towards Daichi, and the vibrator is on such a high setting that Suga’s thighs are twitching with overstimulation.

 

Daichi’s free hand curls into a fist where it rests on his knee, and he relishes in the feeling of blunt nails digging into his palm because it takes his mind off his explosive anger – at least a little. How dare that bastard treat the most important part of his life in such a degrading manner? Suga is beautiful. He is intelligent and caring and- Suga is his as much as he is Suga’s. How _dare_ Kuroo trample on them, on their feelings, so carelessly?

 

“Koushi, please just know that you mean a lot to me, more than anything else in my life.” Daichi smooths down Suga’s messy, silver hair with gentle pats. Kuroo’s gun is digging into his flesh painfully, now, which means that his time is running out. “I love you. I always will.”

 

Small, muffled noises are the best reply Suga can make, and they turn panicked when Daichi’s hand is ripped away from his face. The king stumbles back slightly, caught off guard, when Kuroo shoves him away from Suga. The infuriating smile is gone, but his eyebrows are still raised in Daichi’s direction. “Time’s up, Sawamura.”

 

With his gun still pointed straight at Daichi – a warning to stay away – Kuroo reaches down to pump Suga’s dick languidly. Suga whimpers, and his entire body begins to tremble again.

 

“Get your _filthy hands off him_ , Kuroo.” Daichi roars, almost reflexively. He steps forward, anger boiling hot under his skin, but is stopped in his tracks when Kuroo switches off the safety on his gun; refocusing his full attention on Daichi. Eyes narrowing, Daichi squares his jaw. “Let Suga go. _Please_. I don’t know what your motivation is, but you’ve done more than enough.”

 

“Look at that, at gun point and still a cocky little bastard, aren’t you Sawamura,” Kuroo smirks, messy fringe falling over one eye. The sideways quirk of the lips falls right off his face as he strides towards Daichi. “Are you really that stupid? No wonder they say the Spades would fall apart without their Queen.”

 

Daichi growls at the thinly veiled insult. Kuroo is so close that the gun is resting on the material of his shirt.

 

Without warning, the taller of the two pulls his free hand back and punches Daichi right in the stomach. Huffing lightly from the impact, Daichi doubles over in pain.

 

“I’m just taking back what’s rightfully mine – what _you_ stole from me,” Kuroo’s tone is apathic as he presses the barrel of his gun against the crown of Daichi’s head; keeping the shorter King bowed before him. “And just so you know, before you die and all, Suga belongs to _me_ now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	42. Terrible Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be longer than usual because we're finally reaching the climax!
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

“Akaashi, you…” Bokuto’s entire frame is tense; Akaashi can tell from the rigidity of his shoulders and how his mouth is set. It makes him look taller than he already is.

 

Sarukui and Konoha always used to say that, no matter how bird-brained Bokuto seemed, he always, _always_ looks regal when he’s serious – when the smiles and the sulks disappear, and all that’s left is the King who spent his entire life being groomed for his position.

 

But Akaashi doesn’t think so.

 

Bokuto might be silly and childish but he always knows what he’s doing. He’s far from stupid. In fact, Bokuto only acts the way he does because he’s trying to make up for his lost childhood, now that Kaoru is gone and he has free reign over the suit. Because he trusts Akaashi with running it smoothly in his place.

 

Bokuto grew up with them – Kuroo, Sugawara, Moniwa. They were childhood playmates, groomed as the next generation. Together.

 

Which is why, for the past two years, Akaashi hasn’t been able to accept what Bokuto _did_.

 

“Who is making you do this?” Bokuto demands. His voice is shaking, somewhat, but not from fear. “You don’t have to keep secrets from me.”

 

Sometimes, Akaashi hates how well Bokuto knows him. But they’ve known each other since Akaashi had become a drug peddler and stumbled on Bokuto rumaging through their stocks in the warehouse. Needless to say, Akaashi and Bokuto had shared a mutual dislike in their youth.

 

“I’m doing this of my own accord, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi replies bitingly, carelessly revealed emotion colouring his tone. “I have to-”

 

“Oh, don’t lie to me, Akaashi!” Bokuto snaps back, taking a step forward. Akaashi shakily backs away from him in response, gun trembling in his unsteady grip. Bokuto stops and raises his hands in a placating motion, almost as if he were calming himself down as well. “You don’t have to do this. I know this isn’t you, Keiji. You wouldn’t _do_ anything like this.”

 

“I wouldn’t..?” Akaashi repeats, feeling a little lost. And then he forces out a laugh, although it ends up coming out too high-pitched and a little manic sounding. “ _I_ wouldn’t do something like this?! That’s rich, coming from you!”

  
Bokuto is silent in his confusion, and Akaashi sobers in the blink of an eye.

 

“ _You betrayed Moniwa-san_. You sold him out to Kuroo and Oikawa. You backstabbed him, and the rest of his suit, _just because Kuroo asked you to_. Moniwa supported you! You grew up together! He helped you get your throne! And you just turned around and… _fucked him over_. Like it was _nothing_!” Akaashi is furious. It’s the kind of rage accumulated over the course of two years, and Bokuto’s amber eyes are large and shining in shock. “ _Don’t say anything, Akaashi. You don’t understand, Akaashi. Kuroo’s got it handled, Akaashi_. Imagine my surprise when I found out it was all _you_! You helped them kill off the Hearts! You could’ve stopped them and you didn’t. Even though Moniwa-san had been your friend for _years_.”

 

Bokuto’s eyebrows are knitted together, the wrinkles between them so deep that they look permanent. “Who-”

 

“So, Bokuto-san, how do _I_ fare, as compared to someone you spent your childhood with?” Akaashi continues, sounding increasingly frustrated. “Do you know what it’s _like_ , to have someone tell you they love you unconditionally to your face, but have no _fucking_ clue as to whether they’ll throw you aside once it’s become inconvenient for them? I have lived in _so much fear_ and _paranoia_ this past year, you couldn’t possibly understand! I should _hate_ you, I really should, but the worst part about it all is that I _can’t stop loving you anyway_!”

 

The tension is so thick that the only sound in the entire room is Akaashi’s agitated pants. Yelling unintelligibly, he throws the gun down at his feet and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. _Pathetic_. He thinks, as his frustration materializes in little hiccups accompanying stray tears. _Fucking pathetic_.

 

“I thought I’d be able to hate you if I confronted you about it, but-” Akaashi manages, pausing when he hears the nearing footsteps. He swallows. “You’re going to kill me now, aren’t you?”

 

“No.” Bokuto’s voice is near, and his breath is hot. Large, gentle fingers pry Akaashi’s hands off his face, and Akaashi’s teary gaze meets Bokuto’s sincere one. “You’re right in saying that I could never understand what I put you through, but I would _never_ throw you aside, Akaashi.”

 

Akaashi laughs a little dryly and tries to snatch his hand away, emotions reeling.

 

“I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it’d make you feel bad. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d… end up this way.” Bokuto sighs, dragging a hand down Akaashi’s cheek. His thumb swipes across Akaashi’s cheekbone, wiping away the tears that can’t seem to stop. “Kuroo said Oikawa would stop at nothing to get Moniwa removed, and Oikawa already offtered both Kuroo and I a share of his profits if we agreed to help him. Kuroo accepted, and I declined. Oikawa knew he wouldn’t be able to pull it off without the majority of the cards in his hand, so… he ended up sending a sniper after you. The threat was clear enough.”

 

Akaashi pulls away, heavily-lidded eyes widening in shock. “So you didn’t-?”

 

“It was that tall, dark haired guy with the droopy eyebrows, I think. Oikawa told me to choose – betray Moniwa or lose you.” Bokuto shrugs, mouth quirking slightly at the corners. “I made the obvious choice.”

 

Akaashi stares at Bokuto for a long time. He stares and stares and gapes like a fish out of water because, in many ways, he’s very much one. Everything he’d been told, everything he’d believed for the past two years… had it all been a _lie_? Or had Futakuchi been missing the last puzzle piece all along?

 

“I called you a monster,” Akaashi points out, lips wobbling with overwhelming regret and guilt. His entire vision seems to swim from the utter shock and realisation and overwhelming _relief_. “I _betrayed_ you. I was going to _kill_ you. _You_ should hate me, Bokuto-san.”

 

Bokuto _chuckles_ , squeezing Akaashi so close to his chest that it feels like deep rumblings against his cheek. “I could never. Besides, you didn’t actually end up killing me – we’ll call it even. I _did_ end up backstabbing one of my best friends. One point for me, and one point for you. It’s a tie.”

 

“You’re so silly, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi hiccups, although it’s distorted from how hard he’s sobbing into Bokuto’s shirt. There’s definitely going to be a wet spot there. “This isn’t a game.”

 

Bokuto’s small, sad smile stretches into a full blown grin – Akaashi can tell, from the way Bokuto’s jaw moves against his temple. “It’s a terrible game. We won’t be playing it anymore.”

 

Akaashi can’t help but laugh, this time, and he pulls back to look Bokuto in the eye. He must look frazzled and red-eyed, but he can’t be bothered. They don’t have enough time. “It’s not over yet, Bokuto-san. I wasn’t lying when I said that I had to kill you because of something bigger than personal reasons. There are… people out there who _really_ want you dead. Who _need_ you dead.”

 

Bokuto frowns deeply, but Akaashi hushes him with a soothing squeeze to his bicep. “Bokuto-san, do you trust me?”

 

“With my life.” Bokuto replies with a decisive nod of his head. The serious look almost seems child-like on Bokuto’s owlish features, and another wave of guilt sweeps through Akaashi’s emotions.

 

“If we play our cards right, both of us will live. But I need you to listen to me, okay?” Akaashi breathes deeply, looking searchingly into Bokuto’s amber irises. The King’s large hand runs smooth circles into the skin at his neck – Akaashi’s tears may have stopped, but his hands are still shaking. “You understand?”

 

“Does this… have anything to do with Kuroo?” Bokuto mumbles, softly, his eyes darting to his discarded phone and back again. “What’s going on, Akaashi? You need to keep me in the loop if you want me to understand.”

 

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi chews on his bottom lip, as though contemplating something, before finally pulling his gaze back to meet Bokuto in the eye. “We won’t be able to save Kuroo… It’s going to be a massacre.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	43. Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise again for leaving y'all on this chapter HAHAHA I'll be going on vacation so the next update will probably be in one week's time. Yes. I am a terrible person ^^.
> 
> Thanks for the support :)) Enjoy <3

Everything happens in the blink of an eye.

 

Kuroo's finger twitches on the trigger the same time Daichi crouches low, his left hand shooting upwards to shove the barrel of the gun away. With his right hand, Daichi unlatches the dagger hidden in his boot and lashes out; knife curving in a wide arc and slashing smoothly through the skin at Kuroo’s bicep.

 

“Motherfuck!” Kuroo swears, shooting twice and missing when Daichi ducks behind one of the moss green couches. The tall, wild-haired King grimaces as he tears his sleeve off and drops the tattered material onto the ground.

 

“I’m fucking sorry if you’ve been harbouring all this hate for so long, Kuroo,” Daichi calls from his place behind the couch, interrupting said King’s advance. “We were best friends once, and I wanted to treat you as such. But you crossed the fucking line when you targetted Suga for your own sick, fucked up desires, and I can’t, for the life of me, bring myself to forgive you.”

 

“You, forgive me?” Kuroo guffaws, bitterness poisoning his laughter. He fires again, when Daichi darts between couches, but fails to hit his target. “ _You_ should be the one begging for _my_ forgiveness, Sawamura. You stole Suga from me and chased me out of my own suit. You took _everything_ from me, you arrogant piece of shit!”

 

Without warning, Daichi jumps out from behind the couch to pounce on Kuroo. The gun flies out of his reach, and they land heavily on the floor; wrestling for dominance. “You’re fucking delusional! You _left on your own_ , Kuroo. We begged you to stay! You told us you wanted to be with Kozume, so we let you go. If that’s what you thought all these years, then that’s fucked up-!”

 

“Shut up!” Kuroo grunts when he manages to pull an arm free, landing a powerful uppercut on Daichi’s jaw. Daichi reels backwards with a wince, and Kuroo takes advantage of the momentary lapse in concentration to flip them over; hands circling around Daichi’s neck in a death grip. “That’s not how I remember it. Y _ou stole everything from me_ , Sawamura. You deserve to _die_!”

 

“Get.. _Off_!” Daichi’s vision is quickly fading in and out of focus, but his finger tips brush against familiar, cold metal, and the adrenaline pumping through his system makes the decision before his mind can comprehend it.

 

The bullet pierces cleanly through the flesh at Kuroo’s shoulder; blood splattering warm and wet on Daichi’s face.

 

Everything is silent, and Daichi’s brown gaze is resigned as he watches his old friend stutter and fall to the floor. Kuroo is clutching the wound at his shoulder desperately, his eyes wide and clouding over.

 

Muffled cries draw Daichi’s attention away from the gurgling mess on the floor, and the King rushes straight to Suga’s side – immediately untying the blindfold and unlatching the ball gag. The restraints are then pried gently away from Suga’s irritated skin, and he gasps a little when, with a strong tug, Daichi pulls the full length of the vibrator out of him.

 

“D-Daichi,” Suga’s warm, golden eyes are wet as they take in Daichi’s bloodied appearance, and his normally smooth tenor is rough from misuse. “Daichi, I’m so, so sorry, I-”

 

“Don’t apologize, Koushi, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the one who failed you.” Daichi makes sure to look straight into Suga’s eyes, his calloused hands dwarfing his Queen’s heart-shaped face.

 

Daichi pulls away for a second to shrug off his coat; draping it over Suga’s shoulders and pulling the edges together as a makeshift cover for his nudity. The feeling of gathering Suga in his arms and burying his nose into his silver hair is close to euphoric, and Daichi inhales Suga’s sweat-soaked scent as he smooths down ruffled edges with a comforting hand. “Its over now, don’t worry. _I’m here_.”

 

The sweet moment is interrupted by short gurgles – clogged sounds that could have been laughter. There is a large patch of blood seeping into the carpet directly below Kuroo’s body, and it stains the material a filthy brown. “Right b-below your fu-fucking noses, and you don’t e-even know!”

 

Suga’s hands tighten around Daichi’s arm at the sudden noises, and Daichi turns to frown at Kuroo, his hands equally as snug around Suga’s shoulders. “What are you-?”

 

Without warning, the door slams open with a loud bang – masking the sound of a concurrent gunshot. Daichi looks away from the bullet buried in Kuroo’s skull, Suga pressing his face against the material of Daichi’s shirt.

 

“Sawamura-san, Sugawara-san, are you two alright?” Ennoshita rushes to them, sliding his smoking gun back into the holster resting at his hip. Aone follows right after, giving their surroundings a once-over as he enters the small safehouse. “I’m sorry I defied your orders, but I couldn’t just let you walk into a trap without any backup.”

 

“It’s alright, Ennoshita.” Daichi exhales slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. Kuroo must have been spouting bullshit, as per usual. Suga pushes himself off the couch, and the King only turns his attention back to his 3 once Suga is standing more steadily than not. “We should get Suga medical attention as quickly as possible. And… we need to inform the Clubs about this turn of events.”

 

“The hospital is only twenty minutes away. I will get in touch with the Clubs as soon as possible, but I’ve heard that their Queen is out of comission and their Ace is overseas.” Ennoshita reports, pausing for a second before continuing with a mildly uneasy expression plastered across his features. “Also, Asahi and Noya have relayed that the Hearts’ Mansion is completely deserted. There were bloodstains in various areas of the Mansion but right now, it’s completely void of people.”

 

“But that can’t be.” Suga’s voice is still slightly rough, but it’s more gentle now than it had been. His eyebrows are knitted together in a confused frown. “The Mansions are the suits’ headquarters. The can’t have evacuated the center of their activities… not unless they’ve shut down their operations entirely.”

 

Before Ennoshita can answer, the entire room tenses at the sound of approaching footsteps.

 

“…what a shady place. You sure this was what Kuroo said?” A familiar voice questions loudly, sounding closer by the word. “Don’t be antsy, Tobio-chan, Suga-chan should be right around the corner if Iwa-chan reads- what the fuck happened here?”

 

Oikawa appears at the open doorway, head cocked, his tall frame casting a shadow from the light streaming out of the safehouse. Iwaizumi is right next to him, Kageyama peeking through the gap between his brother’s taller, willowy body and the doorframe. His blue eyes widen at the sight of Kuroo’s corpse.

 

Daichi can pinpoint the exact moment Oikawa’s eyes land on Aone – he can see the cogs turning in Oikawa’s quick mind, can tell when he stiffens; almost as though jerked, and his eyes turn cold.

 

“Iwa-chan. Didn’t you say… that you killed Takanobu-chan?” Oikawa’s tone is measured and even, even though his expression screams otherwise. A poisonous mixture of hurt and anger are battling out on his features, and its unclear which one might win.

 

Aone’s frown deepens at the mere sight of Oikawa, fists clenching at his sides.

 

“O-Oi, listen to me.” Iwaizumi’s voice wavers for a second when he steps up to face his childhood friend, eyes narrowed in something like a glare. “There’s an explanation for this, Oikawa. Don’t-”

 

“There’d better be!” Oikawa _screams_ , and even Suga flinches because none of them have ever heard Oikawa shout before. There is never anything outside of calculated when dealing with Oikawa but this – this is raw fury, raw hurt, raw _betrayal_.

 

“Please, calm down, Oikawa. Let me explain!” Iwaizumi’s pleas are ignored entirely as Oikawa pulls out his revolver and points it straight at his ace. Eyes wide, Iwaizumi steps backwards warily; bumping into a frozen Kageyama.

 

“So have you – _all of you_ – been scheming against me all this time?” Oikawa demands, spinning around on the spot in an almost frantic manner. He’s waving his gun around as well, and Daichi quickly steps in front of Suga with a stony look on his face. Oikawa turns back to Iwaizumi, rage colouring his features. “You… _You_ _betrayed_ me?”

 

“Can’t say you didn’t deserve it, though,” A light, teasing voice emerges from the doorway, and Oikawa swerves around to come face-to-face with a smirking Futakuchi.

 

Every single person in the room freezes in shock because Futakuchi should be _dead_ , should be _rotting_ six feet underground, yet the new arrival looks the same as he had two years ago – save for the large, puckered scar running across his collarbone.

 

“Boo,” Futakuchi grins darkly, and, before anyone can blink, takes aim and fires.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	44. Highway to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK!! This is it, guys. What you see here cannot be unseen.
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3 (eheh)

Iwaizumi’s eyes are uncharacteristically wide – _searching for Oikawa_ – as he clutches his chest, thick blood seeping through the tight grip in a steady, carmine stream. Their gazes meet for a split second; in which time seems to slow and Oikawa’s heart _plunges_ , before the ace seems to lose his strength, eyelids fluttering as he falls to the floor with a weak groan.

 

“No!” With a violent cry, Oikawa jerks out of his shock and rushes to kneel by his childhood friend’s side. Gripping Iwaizumi’s blood-soaked hands, the normally proud King rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, his voice shaking as hard as he’s trembling. “I-Iwa-chan, please, why’d you… why’d you _jump in front of me_? Oh, God, please don’t-”

 

“S-Shittykawa,” Is Iwaizumi’s reply. He offers his King a wobbly grin, but the effect is ruined by the crimson staining his teeth. “Don’t act like you w-weren’t about to k-kill me yourself.”

 

“F-fuck,” Oikawa curses, bowing his head as his vision grows blurry and tears start running down his cheeks. They land on the back of their joined hands in little droplets, clear salt mingling with condemning red. His heart feels like its being ripped out of his chest, and he claws at it with his free hand almost manically; as though he could grab the organ and free himself of excruciating pain if he reached deep enough.

 

Everything around him is muted – everything except for the voice in his head that keeps screaming that _Iwa-chan is dying_.

 

“No, no, no- Iwa-chan please,” Oikawa sobs, and he’s too far gone to care that he looks like a fucking mess, that Futakuchi is probably devouring every last ounce of his sorrow and turning it into pleasure. He pushes down a shuddering sob when the ace coughs up a mouthful of blood, his tanned complexion fading to an ashy grey.

 

Iwaizumi is his _everything_ – how is Oikawa supposed to act, when his entire life, his entire _world_ , is ending?

 

In the haze of grief, white knuckled fingers circling around Iwaizumi’s wrist as though Oikawa’s will in itself can save his life, the King sluggishly registers that Futakuchi is pointing his gun somewhere else – at Sugawara and Sawamura, probably. The former is always such a good samaritan, Oikawa has always wondered why he’d been in the mafia.

 

“-none of your business, I don’t have any beef with you,” Futakuchi is saying, tone blasé. Oikawa’s mind is running a million times faster with the spike in adrenaline and panic – Futakuchi had _known_. He’d known that Iwaizumi would protect Oikawa without fail. That he’d jump in front of Oikawa to save his life.

 

And that even he hadn’t, Oikawa would still be dead.

 

Futakuchi had taken a gamble he couldn’t have lost.

 

“I l-love you, Toru,” Iwaizumi manages, and his voice, normally strong and relentless, is weak. Oikawa wants to scream at the injustice of it all – Iwaizumi is powerful, bold and commanding. He’s anything but _weak_.

 

“I’m s-sorry, Hajime. I love you, too.” Oikawa’s voice is gentle and tear-filled, fists clenching as he watches his best friend’s eyes flutter shut for the last time. Somewhere in the mass of grief and heartache, Oikawa identifies a fury he’s never felt before, and- _oh, so this is how Futakuchi feels_. Leaning down to plant a soft kiss on Iwaizumi’s forehead, the King squares his jaw and reaches for his discarded weapon. “I’ll join you soon, but I have something I need to do first.”

 

Futakuchi’s gaze is arrogant; staring him down with an upturned nose, and it’s a look _fashioned_ for the sole purpose of making people feel less than they are.

 

Oikawa wants to fucking _ruin_ him.

 

“Go to hell!”

 

The Spades move out of the way, behind the kitchen counter, when Oikawa fires and Futakuchi ducks – but not fast enough. The bullet pierces cleanly through his arm; when it clearly could have ended his life once and for all. Futakuchi howls in pain, and the time it takes for him to gather his wits sees Oikawa diving behind a couch for cover.

 

A sharp pain shoots through his ankle as he lands heavily on his side, and, through the pain darkening the edges of his vision, the King hazards a look at his foot. It’s been shot; the ball of his ankle is shattered, and the bullet carves a grusome trail in his flesh.

 

Oikawa doesn’t know if his vision is red because of the sheer amount of blood, or because of his anger. By this point, he honestly doesn’t care.

 

“You feel the pain, don’t you?” Futakuchi’s voice is strained, suppressed emotions finally bursting at the seams. “I’ve had to deal with that for the past _two years_ , Oikawa, and the thing is, unlike your precious Iwa-chan, Moniwa was _innocent_! He loved you and treated you like a friend and you repaid him by killing him and everyone he cared about. You _deserve to die_!”

 

Oikawa grimaces when he comes face-to-face with Kuroo’s corpse, disgust flipping his stomach upside down when he sees the utterly disfigured flesh of his face and the subdued glimmer of the bullet buried in it. There is a dagger laying by his body, and Oikawa snatches it up hastily as Futakuchi’s laboured breaths draw near.

 

Hissing lightly from the pain that shoots through his nerves, Oikawa pushes himself away from the safety of his hiding spot with the dagger ready in his grasp. His marksmanship is the best in the Syndicate, and, even in this situation, Oikawa _isn’t_ going to fail.

 

The knife leaves his palm the same time Futakuchi spots him and shoots, but there is not a single strand of regret in Oikawa’s mind as he falls to the floor – bullet carving a bloody path through the flesh at his shoulder.

 

Futakuchi cries out unintelligbly, so much so it sounds animalistic, when the dagger embeds itself into his eye. Clear liquid spurts out from the wound as his face contorts with agony, and Oikawa greedily drinks in the sight of blood running down Futakuchi’s face in bright red rivets.

 

“You should have died with them.” Oikawa snaps at Futakuchi, raising his good arm and aligning his gun to Futakuchi’s chest. “I’ll help you – _Moniwa is waiting_.”

 

Emptying his cartridge into Futakuchi’s convulsing body is satisfaction unrivalled, and watching him fall for the last time has euphoria rushing through Oikawa’s system; almost enough to numb the pain at his shoulder.

 

The King drags himself over to Iwaizumi’s body with just his right arm and manages a gritty smile. His fingers leave rusty trails on Iwaizumi’s chilled skin, framing his face with his heads and running digits through his short, spiked hair for the last time. _I love you._

 

Oikawa doesn’t flinch when he meets Suga’s gentle, molten gold eyes. He does when Kageyama’s fingers brush against his heated skin.

 

He doesn’t _deserve_ their concern. He _doesn’t want it_.

 

“I don’t regret what I did,” Oikawa says as he props himself up against the soft material of a couch. He doesn’t try to shrug. Sugawara is draped in an ill-fitting coat and nothing much else, so Oikawa focuses his gaze on his bare feet. “I have my reasons, and if I had the chance, I’d do it all again.”

 

“Save it, Suga. He’s a little-”

 

Even Oikawa is surprised when Sugawara silences Daichi with a hand, tilting his head at Kageyama. The silver-haired Queen’s expression is set sternly as he pulls the pistol from Daichi’s holster and turns back to Oikawa; legs shaking slightly from the strain of standing up. Ennoshita is watching silently, almost regretfully, and Aone is kneeling by Futakuchi’s side, head bowed.

 

Kageyama squeezes Oikawa’s arm, blue eyes lingering on Oikawa’s brown – a final parting – before turning and striding out of the safehouse.

 

“I know.” Suga’s eyes are almost blank as he regards Oikawa. The cold metal of a pistol rests on the space between Oikawa’s eyebrows, but the King just stares back at Suga, unwilling to lose even under impossible circumstances. Something snaps, and Suga’s eyes seem to melt; softening at the corners as he offers Oikawa a miniscule quirk of the lips. “We’ll bury you two side by side.”

 

The King of Hearts nods, slowly, as if comprehending the kindness in those words, before closing his eyes.

 

In the last moments of his life, Oikawa imagines summer.

 

They’re under the shade of a tree, and crickets fill the silence with comfortable chatter. Hajime’s hand is warm and rough. His smile is bright.

 

_It’s over_ , Oikawa thinks, _it’s finally over_ – before a bullet brings his brilliant mind to darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	45. Constant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally beginning to wrap things up! (also I just uploaded a new fic, go check it out if y'all are interested!)
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

Yaku is awfully subdued when he unlocks the door to what had essentially been Kenma’s cell. The faux blonde jumps from his perch on the windowsill to regard them warily – both the smaller Joker and the overwhelmingly tall silhouette of his lover.

 

“I’m sorry, it took us awhile to find Kuroo’s keys.” Yaku bows his head, looking very much as though he’d like to apologize for something more. The guilt in his expression overpowers any other emotion, and Kenma already _knows_ before Yaku even opens his mouth.

 

“Kuroo?” Kenma’s words are breathy, as if he were expelling much more air than he could take in. The grip around his heart, the metal cage that had appeared with the heavy feeling of dread in his abdomen – they’re squeezing the life out of him mercilessly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Yaku bows his head, and even Lev averts his eyes. “There was no saving him, not after what he did to Sugawara-san.”

 

Kenma crumples onto the floor in an undignified heap, and he’s sobbing even before he realises it; tears streaming salty down his cheeks and eyes blurring till Yaku is nothing more than a spot in his vision.

 

Kuroo is… gone?

 

Just thinking it, in his head, is suffocating. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take before he’ll be able to accept it, doesn’t know if he _can_. Between learning that his best friend is dead and the uncontrollable sobs that wrack his thin frame, Kenma feels like he’s drowning.

 

It’s as though there is water everywhere, weighing down on him, filling his lungs and his nose till _he can’t breathe_. This is much more than any panic attack, anything his chronic anxiety can cook up. This is _crushing_ him.

 

He hears the door shut quietly, and then familiar warmth engulfing him; at least as best as Yaku can while still being smaller than Kenma. A soothing hand rubs cirles into Kenma’s back – smaller, gentler, than Kuroo had ever been, but as close to his touch Kenma can get. “You need to breathe, Kenma.”

 

Kuroo might have just been an asshole to others, but while he had been sane he’d been the best friend Kenma could have asked for and the best King he could be for his suit. Kuroo had always been his best self for the sake of others, and that selflessness may have just been his undoing.

 

Kenma had always known that Kuroo held a long-standing grudge against the Spades, even if he always acted as if it didn’t matter. It was an unfortunate result of Kuroo’s first love – the first is always the hardest to let go, moreso since Kuroo had introduced Suga to Daichi in the first place.

 

For Kuroo, there would always be more regrets than he knew what to do with. He had always blamed himself for everything that went wrong, managing his guilt and anger with violence and spilt blood. His self deprecation had gotten so bad, so quickly, even Kenma couldn’t expect a fallout of this magnitue.

  
They were a fucked up pair, but Kenma had done nothing about it; just let Kuroo deal with it by himself because he’d been selfish, had assumed that Kuroo could control it on his own. Had been _too caught up with himself_. Ultimately, it’s all Kenma’s fault for not saving Kuroo when he could. He’d let it escalate, _allowed_ things to get to this stage – he’s the one who failed. Not Kuroo. Not Yaku.

 

Just him.

 

Kuroo could be alive now, if he’d just… _done_ something.

 

“H-His b-body?” Kenma manages to squeeze out; a mere whisper but deafeningly loud in the utterly silent room.

 

“We have it,” Yaku replies, brown eyes attentive. He allows Kenma to lean back against the bed frame when he’s sure that the Queen is starting to calm down. “But… it’ll have to be a closed casket funeral.”

 

The small whimper that excapes from Kenma’s mouth is pathetic, even to his own ears.

 

“I know… you’re grieving, Kenma,” Yaku looks guilty again, but Kenma can’t seem to understand why. It’s not his fault that Kuroo is dead, after all. It’s not like Yaku sold them out, or _asked_ for Kuroo to get killed. “But you’re the highest in command right now, and the suit is in disarray. We need you to lead. Please.”

 

Kenma is silent for awhile, closing his eyes and focusing on breathing. Feeling the ends of his hair tickle the nape of his neck, the faux-blonde gives a miniscule shake of his head.

 

He’s a strategist, an accountant, a statician.

 

But he’s no leader.

 

“Is Kai on the way back?” Kenma asks, because Yaku has always been the bind that held the Clubs’ elite together – much better at his job than Kenma could ever be.

 

“His flight is confirmed for 2 in the afternoon. He’ll be back by nightfall.” Yaku nods, unsure of what Kenma is getting at. “He’s still-”

 

“I’m leaving the Syndicate.” Kenma announces; slim fingers drumming quickly on the parquet floor. Somehow, his voice only cracks on the last syllable.

 

“What?” Yaku reels back in shock. “No, you can’t- Kenma, please-”

 

“I’m _tired_ , Yaku. And there’s no point, not without Kuroo.” Kenma sighs, utter exhaustion colouring his tone. Everyone knows that Kenma is only in the Clubs because of Kuroo, that Kuroo is close to Kenma’s entire world. Without Kuroo’s influence, Kenma would have quit the Clubs long ago. He might not even have joined in the first place. It just didn’t seem _right_ to stay without that constant by his side. “Once Kai gets off the plane, do inform him that he will be promoted to the King seat. Lev will become the new Ace.”

 

“Kenma-” Yaku’s eyes are wide.

 

“You will be the new Queen, in my place.” Kenma’s voice carries a certain weight to it, and Yaku’s jaw clamps shut. There is a note of finality in the Queen’s tone that leaves no room for argument. “I know this is impromptu and unofficial, but I’m in no shape to take care of the Clubs. I need to know that someone I _trust_ , someone I can _depend_ on, will take over for us. Do you understand?”

 

Yaku stares at Kenma for a moment, before bowing his head. “Understood.”

 

_He was right_ , Yaku thinks as he exits the room, a small smile gracing his lips as he nods at Lev. _Everything is going according to plan_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	46. Final Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg guys I can't believe I actually finished writing this monster??? I will be updating one chapter everyday from today until Saturday!
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

Yahaba takes a slow sip of his tea, allows the hot liquid to sit in his mouth before swallowing. Chamomile has always soothed his nerves, although being so far away from Japan is equally as helpful.

 

_“This is the final boarding call for passengers of flight SQ064, bound for Singapore. Please proceed to Gate 31 immediately.”_

 

The flight to Istanbul had been hell; wracked with nerves and guilt and an underlying panic he can’t understand. His stomach is still broiling with tension, although Yahaba doesn’t know why. It’s as though he were expecting something more, as though they were merely in the eye of the storm.

 

As though nothing is over… _yet_.

 

But that’s ridiculous thinking, since, in the private of their first class cabin, Kyotani had explained everything to him.

 

Worried for Yahaba’s safety and sanity, Kyotani had been contacted by the Queen of Diamonds – Akaashi Keiji. The one with the heavily hooded eyes and the curly, dark hair, Yahaba recalls. They’d only ever met once or twice, and only superficially.

 

He’d given Kyotani an out, for the both of them. A chance to change everything.

 

And Kyotani had taken it.

 

Planting seeds of doubt amongst the Hearts’ Elite had been _easy_. Kageyama had never been particularly close to any of them, and they all regarded him as Oikawa’s awkward, prodigal younger brother. Most of them were scared; felt backed into a corner from his overwhelming skill.

 

So they believed the rumours, trusted in falsified records and turned their backs on the dark haired boy.

 

It was at that point in the story that Yahaba had hailed the flight attendant and requested a glass of white, if only to settle his frazzled nerves. He’d frowned as he watched the frost spread on his window, felt Kyotani reaching over to squeeze his hand.

  
With Kageyama out of the Hearts, the first move had been taken and Akaashi’s plan had been put into play – only, Kyotani had no idea what it could be. He’d only been informed of his own role in something that Yahaba is sure is bigger than anything they could have imagined.

 

He’d only been informed that, for his help, he would be repaid – with Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s lives.

 

Unconsciously, Yahaba’s hand tightens around the handle of his mug.

 

No matter how much he had feared Oikawa, Yahaba had revered him just as much. His King had been someone almost _untouchable_ to him, and he’d trusted Yahaba, at least a little – which is much more than he can say for anyone else. On the other hand, however, Yahaba holds no delusions that he wouldn’t end up like Hanamaki one day.

 

He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

 

The chair opposite him scrapes against the ground, and Yahaba is brought out of his reverie by a slightly dishevelled looking Kyotani. He glares at his phone and grumbles under his breath when he sits down.

 

“What is it?” Yahaba asks, placing his cup back onto the table and running a hand through his ruffled hair – long-haul flights have never been kind to him.

 

“I contacted Akaashi for updates on the situation back in Japan,” Kyotani sighs, stirring his coffee a little too aggressively. He doesn’t say ‘back _home’_. “Clubs raided our headquarters. Kunimi was still in the medbay, he didn’t stand a chance. And you know what Kindaichi’s like.”

 

“And Watari?” Yahaba asks, eyes wide. Kyotani shakes his head a little regretfully and dumps half of his drink down his throat. Yahaba sighs deeply, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “What happened? We’ve always had a good relationship with the Clubs.”

 

“I’m not sure, either,” Kyotani shrugs when he finishes gulping down the coffee. “Kuroo is dead, though. I think it was Yaku – their joker – who sanctioned the kills. Terushima was sighted as well. The two of us are considered MIA.”

 

Yahaba allows the chatter of the crowd to wash over the break in their coversation as he thinks. “Something isn’t right. It’s not adding up… and Terushima should have stepped in if things got out of hand. It doesn’t make _sense_.”

 

“I know,” Kyotani nods, dark eyes narrowing. He sounds frustrated. “There’s another player in this game. It isn’t Akaashi that’s pulling the strings, I think. There’s definitely something bigger than us at work here.”

 

“You think it’s Bokuto?” Yahaba suggests.

 

Kyotani shakes his head. “Akaashi made it certain that I was, in no circumstance, to approach him or the Diamonds. He’s keeping something from Bokuto as well. Plus, Bokuto and Kuroo are close, he doesn’t have any motivation to kill him.”

 

“Then maybe it wasn’t him that killed Kuroo,” Yahaba points out. “He kind of does have a bone to pick with us, after that stunt Oikawa-san pulled with Matsukawa and Akaashi before we offed Moniwa.”

 

_“Flight JPN203 to Spain is now boarding at Gate 16. I repeat, Flight JPN203 to Spain is now boarding. Passengers, please proceed to Gate 16.”_

 

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s none of our business.” Kyotani cracks his knuckles – a rather grating habit – before he stands and hooks a hand through their hand carry. “Let’s go, Shigeru.”

 

“Will we ever go back?” Yahaba asks, worrying his lip. He still feels responsible, somewhat, for the things that happened, since Kyotani did all he did for _him_. “Ever?”

 

Kyotani stares at him for a second, hurried strides faltering, before wrapping an arm around Yahaba’s shoulders and kissing his temple firmly. “The Hearts are dead. There is no place left for us back there.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	47. Puppets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today! (apparently no one is here for the kyouhaba??)
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

“I wonder what Oji-san would have said about all this,” Bokuto mentions in passing as he stares out of the tinted, bullet-proof windows. He chuckles softly. “I’d bet that he’s turning in his grave right now.”

 

Akaashi stares at him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Bokuto-san?”

 

Bokuto is silent as he contemplates his answer, and he remains so as Akaashi rolls up the partitioning between the driver and the backseat.

 

“I’m… more alright with this than I think I should be,” Bokuto admits freely once they’re alone – or as alone as they can get while being driven back to headquarters. “I’ve been trained to lead the Diamonds since I was born. It’s almost like it’s a birthright, but I’ve never actually wanted it. Plus, it’s not like I used much of my power. You’re much better at all the serious things than I am; I’m just like an over-glorified attack dog.”

 

“You’re much more than that, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi frowns, a touch of anger colouring his otherwise flat tone. “You’re a beacon, a _symbol_. You’re much better suited for the King seat than I am, which is why you’re still King.”

 

“A _puppet_ King.” Bokuto corrects, daring Akaashi to retort. His Queen remains silent, so Bokuto continues. “I’m just a figurehead now, but the thing is, it doesn’t even bother me. We were already like this before, so it’s not like there’s much of a difference anyway. I’m just… afraid that I’ve disappointed Oji-san, you know?”

 

“He’d be proud of you.” Akaashi’s heavily hooded eyes stare right into Bokuto’s open, amber ones. “Choosing the peaceful way isn’t always being weak, Bokuto-san. You were trying to protect me and the suit. Keeping the Diamonds in tact is the most important, isn’t it? Preserving everything your family has worked so hard for.”

 

Bokuto chews on his lower lip. “What about the other suits?”

 

“The Spades are recovering nicely, since only the elite members were involved. The Clubs are restructuring their entire deck, since their old King and Queen are both out of comission. Kozume-san has retired, and we stopped tracking him after the coronation.” Akaashi reports, running a hand through the curly black hair at the back of his head. “The elite Hearts are either dead or missing, so Shiratorizawa is moving in to take the suit for themselves. The new King should be Ushijima Wakatoshi. I’ll send you the profiles of the more prominent members if you’re interested.”

 

“Another figurehead?” Bokuto’s eyebrow arches.

 

Akaashi nods. “It’s inevitable.”

 

A dangerous plan carried out by a powerful man reaps results Akaashi couldn’t even have fathomed a year or two ago – bringing the entire Royal Flush to it’s knees with a spectacularly executed blow. They understand, now, that it doesn’t even matter that Bokuto’s King seat is obsolete, or that he’s become a mere puppet in the face of a greater power. A ruthless dictator.

 

Because the same can soon be said for every single member of the Royal Flush.

 

Bokuto shakes his head and laughs a little bitterly. “We never even saw it coming, huh, Akaashi.”

 

Akaashi falls quiet, because he _did_ see it coming. He’d housed most of their meetings, kept Futakuchi safe for two years. He helped to liaison for all the events that had led up to this point, predicted the fallout to the best of his ability.

 

He’s not an innocent party.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bokuto’s hand is warm where it wraps around Akaashi’s wrist. “You didn’t know. You thought it was for the best.”

 

Akaashi nods, but otherwise remains silent.

 

“Look, I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Bokuto nudges the black-haired Queen a little more insistently, and Akaashi twists in his seat to face him. “It’s over. The two of us were stupid, and we let that misunderstanding get in the way of our relationship, but it’s because we survived that we’re _stronger_ now. Promise me, Akaashi. No more secrets. We tell each other everything.”

 

“I promise.” Akaashi’s lips stretch into the beginnings of a smile – Bokuto’s sincerity has always helped to lift his spirits, and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed; not since day one. “I love you, Koutarou.”

 

A fond look is dancing across Bokuto’s features as he leans close. “I love you too, Keiji.”

 

And for the first time in months, nothing about their kiss is forced or out of place. There are no thoughts running around at the back of his mind, and the weight on his shoulders has lifted. All Akaashi can think is how lucky he is to have met the person in front of him; and even luckier to have fallen in love with him.

 

Bokuto Koutarou – his beautiful, genuine, fragile King.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	48. Terrors of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is.... one of my favourites, I think. We're slowly drawing to a close guys!! I don't know whether to be happy or sad.
> 
> Thanks for the support :) Enjoy <3

_There are hands roaming everywhere; fingers fluttering over his heated skin with equally feverish a touch. He wants it to stop, but he can’t move. His hands and feet are bound, and the restraints won’t give, no matter how hard he tugs, no matter how hard he pulls._

_He’s too weak._

_Kuroo’s disfigured face appears in front of him, and he screams stop stop stop-!_

_Blood flies everywhere when Kuroo’s lips split open in manic laughter. His teeth are stained red, and there is blood streaming out of his eyes, his mouth, his nose, his ears. Kuroo digs a finger into his own dying flesh, presses so hard that it’s nothing short of gouging out the bullet embedded in his skull._

_His stomach heaves._

_“Suga-chan, Suga-chan,” The haunting voice calls, and it sounds as though Kuroo is talking to him through a voice distorter from six feet under water. “You’re mine, Suga-chan. No one can save you. Not even your beloved Sawamura.”_

_Kuroo gestures to the ground, and there is a corpse where there had been nothing before. His captor moves to nudge the body, and he screams because Daichi- no no no, it can’t be. Daichi!_

_There are hands running along his jaw, curling around his neck and squeezing relentlessly. He gasps in pain, fighting for breath, when Kuroo shoves his face right up against his._

_“You’re mine.”_

Suga startles awake, breathing deeply and looking around wildly. His heart is beating so quickly, almost like a hummingbird pecking incessantly against his ribcage, but he can’t, for the life of him, seem to _breathe_.

 

Beside him, Daichi’s eyes snap open as the bed shakes violently along with Suga’s frantic movements. The Queen stares at the duvet; bunched up in his trembling fists, as he inhales deep and unstable breaths.

 

“Suga… What-”

 

“I-I’m going to be sick-”

 

In his haste, Suga trips and falls flat onto the floor when his legs get tangled in the wildly-strewn bedsheets. He can hear Daichi flicking the switch on their side-lamp, and the ruffling of blankets when the King scrambles after him, but he manages to free himself from the mess of sheets and books it to their bathroom.

 

The door slams shut behind Suga as he heaves; sliding onto the floor and burying his head in his arms.

 

_I’m okay, I’m okay. I can deal with this._

 

His hands are shaking violently, and he presses them to his eyes. The skin around them is damp, and not from sweat. Suga chokes, swinging a fist at the wall in an aimless punch. Something cracks, and pain shoots through his arm.

 

_Weak. So weak._

 

“Suga?” Daichi’s voice is muffled; he’s still on the other side of the door. He knocks again, gently. “Suga, let me in.”

 

“I-I’m okay,” Suga manages, wincing because he doesn’t sound okay, not even to himself. He cradles his hand to his chest and tires to control his breathing, tries to ignore the bile rising in his throat.

 

“Open the door.” Daichi’s tone has that hard edge to it, the one that means that Daichi is serious. Suga trembles harder, scratches the skin at his arms until they’re red. “Go b-back to bed, Daichi. I-I can deal with it. You n-need to be up early tomorrow for the f-funeral-”

 

Suga heaves again. This time, he rushes straight for the toilet and empties bile out of his system. He hasn’t eaten anything solid for days.

 

The door clicks open behind him. Daichi is the King – he has the master key. Right.

 

“Fuck, baby,” There is warmth circling around him, fingers running over the bruises painting the ridges of his knuckles, the scratches lining the length of his forearms. Blood is dripping onto the floor.

 

Daichi nestles Suga in between his legs, the silver-haired Queen’s back resting against the broad expanse of Daichi’s chest. His arms circle around Suga protectively, and he begins rocking them ever so slightly.

 

“I dreamt, I dreamt that you-” Suga’s voice hitches in a sob, and Daichi’s arms tighten around him. “You d-died, Daichi. And K-Kuroo was there, his h-head was blown o-open and I just-”

 

“It’s okay, Koushi,” Daichi soothes, pushing Suga’s hair back, away from the sweat dotting his forehead. He kisses the top of Suga’s head, and the smaller of the two curls up on his side, resting his head in the space between Daichi’s neck and shoulders.

  
The tremours are subsiding.

 

Suga knows that it really hurts Daichi to see him this way, and he tries his best to act the part of the strong, indomitable Queen he’s always portrayed as. Daichi doesn’t know that he hasn’t been eating, has still be suffering from the side effects of overdosing on too many strong aphrodesiacs. Of being… _raped_.

 

Suga doesn’t want to worry him.

 

But his dreams have always been telling, even before any of this happened, and it’s the one thing that Suga can’t help.

 

“…Suga, let’s retire.”

 

Suga immediately goes rigid in Daichi’s arms, and he turns his face upwards to stare at his King in shock. “W-what? Daichi, this is everything w-we’ve worked for-”

 

“I know.” Daichi’s voice is quiet. Suga can tell that he’s been thinking about it. “But it’s not worth it anymore. I can tell that you’re running yourself into the ground trying to act like you normally do in front of the others. You’re _hurting_ yourself. I don’t want to lose you, Koushi. This life really isn’t for either of us anymore.”

 

Suga’s eyes are wide, and he only realises that he’s started crying again when his vision blurs.

 

“What do you say, Koushi?” Daichi cracks a small smile; the one he only allows Suga to see. “White picket fence, nice, quiet neighbourhood, and… a normal life?”

 

There is utter silence as Suga contemplates his answer, eyes wet and shimmering. Determination hardens molten gold, and he nods, intertwining their fingers together. “Where you go, I go. Together.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	49. Finding Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last official chapter, and we'll be wrapping up Royal Flush tomorrow with the epilogue and a short a/n from me. I really can't believe it's ending!!! (also, did someone say kagehina? hehe)
> 
> As always, thank you all for your support :) Enjoy <3

His breath comes up in short pants as he sprints, feet pounding relentlessly, down the alleyway.

 

It’s almost pitch black; only lighted by the peek-a-boo strays from the neon shopfronts. Blue eyes dilate in the night air as the dull thuds of bullet shells ricocheting off walls grows dangerously close.

 

Kageyama suppresses a smug smirk as he falls into a roll, spinning around to shoot at the rooftops. Paint splatters on the walls where he aims, and Yamaguchi reveals himself with a sheepish grin and his hands raised in the universal symbol of surrender; blue spreading across the navy of his shirt.

 

“Above you.” Tsukishima’s deadpan crackles from the communicator in his ear, and Kageyama dodges just in time; orange painting the ground where he’d been standing. Familiar laughter echoes into the dark night, and Kageyama finds himself pushing back a grin.

 

“You’re lucky there aren’t any mirrors here, Kageyama,” Tsukishima is sniggering as Kageyama runs through a puddle, water splashing everywhere along the dirty alleyway. “If not, you might actually scare yourself with your own face.”

 

Kageyama bites back a retort; breaking into a sprint as a barrage of bullets paints the floor _too_ close to him. His legs are starting to tire. “Do your job, Tsukishima.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Tsukishima’s voice is almost exasperated, and Kageyama can tell that he’s rolling his eyes. “45 degrees up, building on your left.”

 

“-Oops!” Hinata trips while avoiding Kageyama’s bullets, swinging across to the next fire escape with a good push of his arms; twisting his flexible body in the air like a gymnast. His hair is bright even in the night, and it only takes three more shots before blue is splattered across the back of Hinata’s shirt and he’s falling to the floor with an exaggerated groan.

 

Hinata’s visibility is his vulnerability – he draws all the attention once he’s seen, almost like a lighthouse on a misty coast, or even the sun in a cloudless sky.

 

Kageyama glares at Hinata, blue gaze intense, before offering a helping hand to the orange-haired boy. Hinata takes it with a challenging grin, jumping to his feet almost effortlessly. He jabs a finger at Kageyama’s chest, puffing his own out like a preening crow. “I’m gonna beat you next time, bakageyama! Mark my words!”

 

“You’re still a hundred years too early, dumbass!” Kageyama growls back, leaning down to push their foreheads together in a show of aggression.

 

It’s something Oikawa used to tell him, back when they still sparred together regularly. Kageyama never came too close to beating Oikawa; he always had tricks up his sleeve, another ace in the hole. No matter how hard Kageyama trained, no matter how fast he tried to adapt – his half-brother had always bested him.

 

Oikawa had been his closest relative, the big brother he looked up to unconditionally; even if he never seemed terribly fond of Kageyama. His skill and precision will always be something Kageyama wants to emulate, something he will always be working towards.

 

A hundred years too early, huh.

 

“Woah, that was awesome!” The loud screeching of tires burning gravel resounds through the narrow passageway, and a small form hops out of shotgun.

 

“Noya-san!” Hinata greets, running over to high-five him with both hands. Their charismatic joker grins right back, obliging the orange-haired boy without hesitation. The tall, built form of the Ace – Azumane Asahi – follows after him. There’s an awful look on his face, as though he’s really angry about something, but it softens into his normal sheepish expression when Nishinoya elbows him in the gut.

 

The front window of the large, black range rover rolls down, and Tanaka pops his head out of it. He’s stretched all the way across the console, still buckled into the driver’s seat. “C’mon, boys, we’re heading back. Our King is waiting.”

 

Somehow, all seven of them manage to fit – although Kageyama blushes terribly when Hinata takes a seat on his _lap_ – and they’re speeding away again. Tanaka is a reckless driver, and he never seems to need to use the breaks. Hinata bounces about – again, _on Kageyama’s lap_ – in excitement, and somehow, Kageyama can’t do anything but grumble quietly to himself.

 

Seated next to them, Yamaguchi stiffles his giggles with the heel of his palm.

 

It’s odd, how well Kageyama seems to fit in, regardless of his awkward nature. The Spades are all welcoming in a way the Hearts had never been, accepting him even after the previous month’s misfortunate events, and they feel like more of a large, sort of dysfunctional family instead of just a corporation, or even just the _Spades_.

 

It’s like Kageyama has finally found family, a place to _belong_ , and he realises that he really likes it; caring for and being cared for. He owes the Spades – owes _Suga_ – everything.

 

“What’s going on, Tanaka-san?” Hinata questions, leaning all the way through the gap between the two front seats and pressing his face into Tanaka’s personal space. A little irritated – for Hinata’s safety, _nothing else_ – Kageyama immediately snakes his arms around the smaller’s waist and pulls him back.

 

Asahi and Tanaka exchange a look Kageyama can’t decipher, and then, with a miniscule nod of the head from Asahi, Tanaka grins large and terrifying. “It’s the start of a new era, young jedi.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	50. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. It's been a wild ride!
> 
> For the last time, thanks for your support :)) Enjoy <3

Ushijima Wakatoshi is not a coward – it’s why he involved the Shiratorizawa Faction with the Royal Flush in the first place. He takes pride in his business sense, trusts in what the Syndicate can offer to him and his gang and understands that risks have to be taken for progress to be made.

 

And it’s all paid off.

 

“The Hearts are in a state of turmoil, since their elites have disappeared entirely off the radar. It’s yours for the taking… that is, _if_ you can.”

 

Ushijima’s biceps flex with the clench of his fingers, steely gaze locked on the lone form seated behind the desk in front of him. The Hearts are the prostitution ring – a pity about what had to be done about Oikawa, really. He could have been _so much more_ – and although that’s not ideal, since Shiratorizawa is more inclined to the Clubs’ or the Spades’ trade, Ushijima will take it. The perks of being in the Royal Flush at all are incredible, and it’s a once in a life time opportunity he’s being offered here.

 

“Don’t underestimate us.” Ushijima finally says, squaring his jaw. “We’ll have them by nightfall.”

 

“Wonderful.” The man behind the desk claps his hands together in delight. “And I’m sure that you have no problems with the contract I’ve laid out for you and your men?”

 

Ushijima understands that the Royal Flush, in normal circumstances, is ruled over by four Kings with equal standing and power. Of course, these times are not _normal_ times, and the contract the man before him speaks of is an encroachment of the Royal Flush’s founding ideals. An absolute defamation.

 

But the man before him is not just anyone, not just a face he can easily blur into the background as he’s always done to people who don’t matter to him. This man is the spearhead of a new era, the change in an exponentially obsolete system.

 

Spiking Kuroo’s drinks to drive him out of his mind, recruiting an anger-driven Futakuchi to kill two Hearts with one bullet, mentioning half-truths to an insecure Akaashi – even driving Kageyama out of his own suit to quicken Oikawa’s descent into madness; to direct the fallen King’s attention elsewhere as his plans came to fruition. And even after, when the foundations of his plan had been laid and the players on his board had revolted, he altered his plans easily in response – as though he could predict what was to happen.

 

This man singlehandedly plotted the downfall of the Syndicate.

 

And, with Ushijima’s signature, the man before him will control it in it’s entirety as well.

 

The Clubs are tangled too deep in his web to escape; Yaku and Lev owe it to him for getting rid of their deranged King, even if he’d planned for it to happen. The Diamonds are pinned, even if they don’t seem like it, because he’s keeping both Bokuto and Akaashi as invisible hostages – for each other. The Spades are too soft, too family-orientated, to ever prove a threat now that Sugawara and Sawamura have left.

 

And Ushijima – who has been fighting for a share in the market for years, who would stop at nothing to advance his faction, who simply _cannot refuse_ – now holds the will of the Hearts in his hands.

 

It’s completely _brilliant_.

 

The fountain pen is smooth as Ushijima’s loopy signature slowly takes form, and the man behind the desk nods, the life in his eyes muted, as Ushijima returns the stack of papers.

 

“I take it that’s all we have to settle today?” Ushijima asks, eyebrows raised. The man looks rather unimpressionable, honestly, and Ushijima has thrown the man’s face, his name, away before. Because he’d been categorised under ‘unimportant’. It’s safe to say Ushijima will _never_ make that same mistake twice. “You do want the Hearts to fall by sundown, don’t you?”

 

The man waves him away with a disinterested hand, already turning his attention to another document. Ushijima takes one last look at the scenery – it’s a beautiful port, really, and an equally desirable office – before marching out the way he came.

 

“You okay, boss?” Shirabu asks when he opens the door to the backseat of the black sedan. His brown hair is light in the afternoon sun. “You look like you’ve seen a demon, or something.”

 

Ushijima slips into the car gracefully, accidentally catching Terushima’s eye as he looks out of the bullet-proof window. The Wild Card is leaning against the pillar to the main entrance, cigarette dangling from between his fingers. He looks as out of place as Ushijima feels, all casual streetwear in contrast to the uniform, black suits of patrolling guards, although he ignores any looks thrown his way with well-practiced ease.

 

The faux-blonde puts out the joint when a black haired boy walks up the steps, greeting him with a quick flash of his tongue piercing. Ushijima manages to sneak a look at the boy’s face – it’s Akaashi Keiji.

 

It seems like Ushijima’s not the only one who’s made a deal with the devil.

 

“Something like that,” Ushijima finally replies as Shirabu starts driving away, settling back in the leather seat with a contemplative look in his eyes.

 

Ushijima is no coward, he really isn’t, but he hadn’t been able to help but stifle a shudder when he walked into the office of one Ennoshita Chikara – King of Spades and now, _Emperor_ of the Royal Flush.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Congratulations on making it to the end! (That ending though HAHA)
> 
> Special thanks to FakePlant for being the first, tinyllamasaur for being such a qtpatootie, PaperCities for being a sweetheart, yeexeeng and fbmstar for always commenting without fail and ColourlessZero for the wonderfully thorough readings. I also want to thank ALL of you, since it’s impossible to mention each and every one of you here, because I could not have done this without you!! <3
> 
> I sincerely hope all of you have enjoyed this journey as much as I have ☺ It’s the first time I’ve ever finished a chaptered fic (and tbh I’m really proud of myself HAHA) Do subscribe or bookmark this series if you’re interested, because I’ll be posting more of this au soon ;)


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